It hasn't rained.
It surely didn't.
I ponder,
As I walk unaware of me.
But the grass feels damp,
Under my feet.

Appalled I realize
I walk on the morning dew.
Several have been lost,
Cause of just a single step.
I carefully tread back,
Now completely awake.

I notice dew drops
On green blades of grass,
On petals and
On rusty iron bars.
Mesmerized by these
Adornments, so vile;

I reach out.
Just a touch, a feel alone.
As soon as my fingers
Reach out for the prize-
The dew drop shatters.
So tenuous, so vile.
And the piercing regret is,
I knew it all along.

But I still have a chance
Just another cold, damp night
I have to wait.
Come tomorrow
The field will be bathed again.
Maybe with millions, maybe with a few.

Nevertheless,
I will someday capture
The morning dew.