A Small Puddle

A sonnet

Photo by William J Spirdione

Watching a puddle and the rain falling.
Each drop splashes one after the other.
Drop after drop, space and time are crawling,
Lethargically longing, Earth’s mother.

Smallest of splashes, wave light reflecting,
Was I ever even at the banquet?
Rain in puddle, forever collecting.
Is sleep dropping its warm heavy blanket?

Small waves are growing, larger and larger,
Now threatening to overflow its bank.
Maybe it will wash away our ardor.
For Mother Earth, I’ll walk down the plank.

A foot splashes all of the water out.
Wake up. This may be the end of the drought.