My daughter blows a bubble and it rotates in the air.
It's full of breath and life -- in wonder I'm compelled to stare;
It glistens in the sunlight, circled prism, mirrored ball,
Demanding that I see it as a symbol for us all....
So Vibrant now, but fragile, drifting upwards to the sky,
Evoking giggles and her bare feet dancing through the rye;
It wavers, growing thinner as the moments slide away,
No chance to reach the distant goal, unable to delay.
My daughter sees the bubble pop - she laughs and claps her hands.
She doesn't see the darker view experience demands;
So in the wisdom of my years I laugh at all the trouble,
And join the wisdom of her youth, that blows another bubble.