A Fragile Thing Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

The blower blows his glass
from heated quartz,
a bubble forms,
its walls so thin
and beautiful to see,
that men will stand in awe.
And some will weep
just to express their love
at nature's skills
and man's keen eyes.
Few know
that glass must cool,
allow its fragile walls
to harden in itself,
what looks to be
in strong and sturdy state
it needs maturity
and that requires time,
without it sadness soon will rule
and of the bubble
there remains
just heated air.