I was inspired on my walk through town this morning to write this poem, the latest in my series of existentialist nature poems. I hadn’t intended for it to be so political; however, it just came out that way.

“Why, dew?

Why do you do what you do, dew?

Clinging to the air, the way you do.

What did I ever do to you, dew?

 

What’s your point, dew?

You who belong on the ground

Not in the air, hanging around

Making me feel unsound.

 

You’re all wet, dew.

Waving around in the heat

Precipitously clinging to my feet

When you should be perched nice and neat

On a blade of grass, or in the street

Instead of making me feel like a wet sheet

Why, dew?”