Like the sparkling foam on the crest of a wave
our lives flicker into existence
and then are gone.
Floating away in the currents of unstoppable time
dismembering bubble from bubble,
memory from memory.
But every island of foam though brief in its existence
is a pool of fun for little feet,
splashing the drops of our endeavours.
Dreams are the warmth that hovers above the water,
adding life to its depth
and meaning to our existence.
And love of living is why the foam is born,
if only to exist for a fleeting moment
in the endless continuum of life.