When I was a boy, and saw bright rows of icicles
In many lengths along a wall
I was dissappointed to find
That I could not play music upon them:
I ran my hand lightly across them
And they fell, tinkling.
I tell you this, young man, so that your expectations of life
Will not be too great.

Conrad Potter Aiken

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/improvisations-light-and-snow-05-2/