When I was a boy, and saw bright rows of icicles <br />In many lengths along a wall <br />I was dissappointed to find <br />That I could not play music upon them: <br />I ran my hand lightly across them <br />And they fell, tinkling. <br />I tell you this, young man, so that your expectations of life <br />Will not be too great.<br /><br />Conrad Potter Aiken<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/improvisations-light-and-snow-05/
