People in Glass Houses

I build my house of shining glass
of crystal
prisms
light and clear,
delicate. The wind blows
Sets my room to singing.
The sun’s bright rays 
are not held back
but pour their radiance through the rooms
in sparkles of delight.
And what, you ask, of rain
that leaves blurred muddy streaks
across translucent purity?
What, you ask,
of the throwers of stones? 
Glass shatters, breaks,
sharp fragments pierce my flesh,
darken with blood.
The wind tinkles brittle splinters
of shivered crystal. 
The stones crash through.
But never mind. My house
My lovely shining 
fragile broken house
is filled with flowers
and founded on a rock.