Drops Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

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.