It's wet, and cold, and something new
With skies of ash and longing for blue
it circles and swims around your legs
into ponds and puddles you dare not tread.

Because your mama said it was dangerous
to slip and splash around
but when you gaze into its depths
there is no danger to be found.

Only little tiny creatures float
on the top and the bottom, you also note
hands like saucers, you grab and cup
the escaping drops and lift them up.

Lifted to the sky, the puddle's slapped away
"Puddles aren't for drinking!" you hear the others say
even smaller sobs escape your throat, as you ponder why
something that is so beautiful is not meant for you or I.