I dance in teardrops

Weaving a sparkling pattern

Of failure's success.

I am worn down,

Ground to finest powder,

Like grain turned to flour.

But one wouldn't use me

For baking bread or cakes.

I am tired, weary.

An exhausted cloud,

Once buffeted by the wind,

Now drifting downwards

As tired snowdrops.

To lay upon restful ground.