This is the poem that came today, rather than the small stone that I was trying for.
A bubble dome on the edge of the tub,
Encircled by smaller soapy bubbles,
(Full, not domed).
Said dome topped with iridescent glows
Of pink, then purple,
Ending with green.
Within, my reflection
And that of my towel
Hanging from the door rack.
Thing is, the shadowy reflection of towel
Had the shape of my grandfather’s old red barn,
The one with the roof that slid down
And out to the left.
No towel to be seen.
Within this dome,
Snow (white porcelain of the tub),
Like the snow I saw
Around that very barn as a child,
Passing it on the gravel road,
Headed to Grandma’s for Christmas.
And there, in the dome, I stood,
Well, the reflection of my head
And shoulders stood,
Looking at that memory.
After writing the poem, I wrote the small stone.
Soap bubble inspires poem.
Sometimes things just don’t come out as planned. 🙂