Streams...
Drops of pink paint.
Perfectly formed, perfectly rounded.
Glistening liquid buds, about to cast its seeds,
into clear water fall,
not without a tinkle, nor a nervous quake.
Bouncing off the satin of white and blue,
for a moment in mid-air;
As if unsure, as if undone,
before its surrender, into the rippling crests...
Drops of pink paint.
Momentarily pink.
Soon to be engulfed by ever widening reams.
With the next shining pearl following in its wake,
attempting a brief renewal, asserting its own hue.
Alas! Very brief, is this defiant affair.
Trembling as it were, towards it's eternal path;
A new identity forged- of all merged in one, as one with all it rests...