Drops

A raindropp off the Matterhorn was in the heavy clouds just born. It fell and tumbled from great heights enjoyed, while falling, splendid sights. A hundred meters off the ground a teardrop, hot and rather round had just been shed by a young filly who was engaged to Kurt, a silly and immature and randy lad that day he had been really bad, had grabbed her by the ponytail just when she bent to check the mail. The priest had stood nearby the gate engulfed in a finance debate with Mister Penny, local banker who was a jelly-bellied wanker. But in the town where Edelweiss are currency and do entice the boys in blue-green Lederhosen to climb up into high and frozen crevasses and to distant peaks the Priest is one who always seeks compliance with the Laws of God so, it was neither strange nor odd that this young filly shed her tears as tears are made inside our fears. This tear had almost hit the street when winds came in with snow and sleet picked up the drops, both rain and tear and took them up the mountain, near the summit which had dared young men for centuries, each year again. And there they played light as a feather they swirled around in nasty weather. Updrafts live at the Matterhorn in fact that's where they once were born. And so it happened that they stayed though neither did seem too dismayed. Well, if you think about the two perhaps it could apply to you.