Puddles (Free Style)

A circular tale (from a different angle) on the life of watery pools.

Descending from bursting mists of darkened heavenly skies
The pores of the earth's crusts fill once more
Replenishing with watery oil that cleanses the very wounds
Infected by the miasma of the once daily grind
A seed of life doth germinates
Beneath reflecting smooth surfaces
Mirroring windows to the world
Soon to be distorted by the rippling effects of
Monstrous childlike stomping, or havens for winged passersby
To once again evaporate and infect the lifeless empty pores
Until descending mists burst once more.