Bubbles

A momentary transcience that it had; It floated on the water like it should. The floating form, it’s fleeting and it’s sad, And seeking form—its virtue—if it could. It stayed there for a while, transfixed and still, Reflected floating leaf, a moment’s glance. Companions came to grow its needy fill, In momentary glance; it grows with chance. “How fleeting is my form!” the bubble cried, And sooner than it thought, its death was sung. Resistance is for naught; a viper’s chide, A slither in fluid form, sweeping tongue— Another rises to the surface dark, The tiny form soon grows in silvery dark.