The Life and Times of a Puddle

Short story in the form of poetry, enjoy :)

A clear, clean puddle sits
Virgin in its way
Yet to be stepped in, splashed through, drunk from and dirtied
It waits
Drops of water fall
Expanding it 'till it's bigger than the others
Worms, sure of their purpose, slither towards it
Only to drown
Die
Decay
Their bodies sink, layering at the bottom where no one can see
A child, playful and intent, understands the need to splash
To soak her socks and drain her mother

The worms rupture

She doesn't know
Her yellow boots only feel the squelch of mud
The sense of decay escapes her
A lost dog, tired and thirsty wanders upon it
The puddle
Now murky with death and bright with promise
He drinks, lapping up the water and regaining his strength
No one can know what he's been through
Hurried feet, late for work, rush through the pool
disregarding its beauty and stories to tell
The splash is followed by muttered profanities and a shake of the wet leg
It has interrupted the business man's schedule
Shame on it
Filled with mud and contempt
the puddle forgets its thankful guests and resigns to fate
It is miserable and begs for death
But for murky water there is no death
Only precipitation and rainfall
The sun comes out
Searing
Slicing through the clouds
The puddle smiles.
Death.
At last.

Author's Note

Thoughts?