–Amy Engle


National Poetry Writing Month 2017 Poem #9


Carefree, she runs through the damp grass,

Giggling as she reaches out her fingers.

The shining, wet spheres pop on contact.

She turns to me and asks for some more.

I pull the wand from the soapy solution

And let the wind form perfect bubbles.

They reflect light into rainbow shimmers.

She is a thing of beauty as she delights

In the temporary parade of colorful suds.