-- Posted by mtllcrckmn at 10:42 pm on Oct. 20, 2008 Tiny tinkles twinkle in the morning sun, Tamed and twisting to where they will end, Trailing tails of the glimmering dew, Travel towards the tippering edge. Graceful globes of watery mass, Glide and grapple along yellow veins, Grinding the grains of the leaves vividly, Glassy and green, drops slide to their death. -- Posted by HatesYou at 10:45 pm on Oct. 20, 2008 mass. massachusetts. yeahhh. -- Posted by palepalepeach at 11:11 am on Oct. 24, 2008 You have got some intense alliteration here.