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.
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