Words   They trickle down, most often Like fugitive raindrops Dodging and weaving, decorating All my window panes Or scuttle like busy insects Searching for scraps and signs Diving for bolt holes, freezing on trees When danger comes along Often they cling like children On school's first fearsome day To mummy's arm Unsure of themselves, embarrassed Not knowing what to say But sometimes they rage Like stallions Silken hooves kissing the ground And fly over ravaged landscapes With eyes ablaze Great chests heaving