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Puddle
Drifting in the tiny puddle,
A tiny wood drifted from shore to shore.
Ripples shimmered under the sun,
Under the big blue sky with no clouds.
A finger dipped into the puddle,
A gentle touch to the tiny wood that drifted.
Ripples circled the drifting wood,
Pushing it towards the circled finger.
The tiny wood struck the finger,
It stuck to the skin of the gentle finger.
The finger wavered,
Moved in circles within the puddle.
The tiny wood let go,
Leaving a small cut on the finger.
The finger bled into the puddle,
Colored the tiny wood and the ripples.
The finger left,
A stabbing pain.
The tiny wood stayed,
Drifting again in the reddened puddle.
