There is a house I daily pass
With finger marks on the window glass.
(Shadows of moments happily whiled
Away in the sun by a little child.)
The wide beveled panes next door to it are
Curtained and free of blemish, or scar.
If choice were given to any, who
Would waver a moment between the two?
For as fast as it's smudged, a mother then
May clean a glass til it shines again.
But none may burnish to brighter glints
Panes never soiled by small hand prints.
by Ethel Romig Fuller, Kitchen Sonnets
Photo ~ My Christmas tree through the window.