Chandelier

Hanging from the ceiling,

Tiptoeing in the wind,

Were little lights that grazed,

Upon the metal stuttering within.

They gloated in their shine,

Smiled at their divine,

Whilst laughing at the iron clad,

That rust from what it had.

And one day, when the metal frame,

Rotted into a mound,

The little lights that grazed in such delight,
Fell unto the ground.

Uninspired

I can’t write the words,

I can only write the spaces in the middle,

But I need words for that too.