Young Writers Society

Plip.
Plip. Plip.
Plip-plop, plip-plop.
Plip-SHWASH! Plop-KACHANG!
SHWASH! KA-CHANG! SHWASH!
The gleaming metal fountain
Turns on in the morning.
Starts with a trickle,
Like a dove’s coo.
Building and building
‘Till it reaches a lion’s roar.
Its many arms branching out,
Crisscrossing, coming together
To form
Intricate patterns.
Blub.
Plop.
Cling.
During the day,
Children throw coins in the Fountain.
He seems to
Glow with happiness.
Blip.
Shwaaa-shwaaa…
Blip.
As the trees rustle,
Leaves quietly drop into
The jade-like waters.
The Fountain caresses them,
Holding them as though
They are precious gems.
Bloom.
Bloom. Bloom. Bloom.
Bloom. Bloom.
Three pairs of feet slide
Into the sunlit pool.
The Fountain winces,
But he shows no other signs of pain.
SWASH! (trickle)
Fwoop-trickle, SWASH!
Followed by loud guffaws.
Children enjoy an evening water fight.
The Fountain appears to go out of his way
To make sure they get soaked.
KA-CHANG! SWASH!
Sploosh! Slosh!
Drip.
At twilight,
The Fountain suddenly
Stops.
As though he is falling asleep,
For it has been
A busy day.

~Inspired by a fountain on the Stanford campus

I would like this to be posted in the "Other Poetry" section. Comments there are most likely to be appreciated.

Cheerios, Chandni