Out they come in tubes of colours, from the pockets of the mothers
- seeking solice in the afternoon
Bubbles for fauteur de troubles, well fed up with muck and puddles -
willing now to quietly attune
All it takes you understand, is puffy cheeks and wand in hand,
dipped so deeply down into the lotion
A steady blow until the air, takes it into it's own care,
have you ever see such globular devotion...??
As they delicate the sky, focus on one with keen eye,
and watch the rainbow ripples circle round
Coloured oils swirl into rivers, that gives one delightful shivers,
as it settles on a leaf or on the ground.
Soak the plastic till it's thicker, blowing harder and much quicker,
- watch a hundred baby bubbles fight for space
Or run into them arms out wide, oozing soapy-suddy pride,
and feel the magic of the POP! against your face.
Now skillfulness is what is needed, if previously you succeeded,
to blow the biggest bubble that departed
You must recapture it again, the rule is simple and it's plain -
back on the very wand from where it rightly started!
No matter what a child desires, essential things that life requires,
the humble bubble is the captor of our peace.
That every single generation, will always find a true elation,
from that gulp of air, their lips then first release.
