I thought it was

I cupped my curving hand and held within my palm,
a small pool of gentle rain from a clouds summer song.

I loved this purest nectar which was offered from the sky,
I couldn’t live without it,
for I would rather die.

While protecting it in the warmth of my palm,

it rippled and moved with such pristine charm,

I knew I must think of a way to keep it from ever being harmed.

I slowly curled up my fingers and closed my strong hand,
“I have it,” I thought , but I didn’t understand.

When I opened it back up it wasn’t there,
nothing was left but for a hand full of air.

I’ll never again close this hand in life’s time,
around that which I love,
for I thought it was mine.