The Drops

Beautiful are pearly drops on a sunny day When they shine in the arches of gold, Yet in sorry weather, on damp windows, they Dread like drops of black autumn's mould. People are happy in oblivion; (I was told) Their stature in the eyes of the others Matters not, nor do the awards of this world. (Are people living here, or yonder? I wonder.) The drops of autumn flood hearts, veins, And souls with sadness; they wander While they quietly glide on the window panes, What fun they seek, what joy? I wonder... Unhappy people, crushed by life, often foul Their future with soul-pains of old times, If joy relieves sadness and heals the soul, Why they recall the sad, not the happy times?