A puddle’s life can feel mostly unloved.
Echoes of rain, they carpet the ground,
reflecting the sky but swamped in mud.
Mirroring contrails that seem to be drowned.
Echoes of rainfall coat the hard ground
beneath benches inviting the joggers to sit.
Contrailed rainbows, they’re not really drowned
just a rippling surface that dries bit by bit.
Wooden benches stand firmly, they invite me to sit
in an oasis of calm. Mini lakes gather.
Ripples run on their surface but will dry bit by bit.
These miniature oceans. Stillness that matters.
My oasis of calm is where mini lakes gather,
reflecting the sky. Swamped in mud
are my miniature oceans of stillness. What matters
is that a puddle’s life is not always unloved.