the wind longs to gobble
the bubble I mollycoddle
that buoyant orbicular rainbow
is the moon's humming beau
inside is a deary apple
which ever I cannot have an ample
rides the clouds high o'er
can it not get any lower?
my favourite bubble
swifts down with a wobble
if it popped I cannot say "but"
ah! must I fondle not!
yet still, through thin frigid air
it eludes the web of my hair
high and low I see no portal
yet again, gone is the quasi rascal