Bubbles in the Playground

Amidst the noisy, bustling city
Nestled deep in its placid park
Lay a quiet childrens' playground
Peaceful and carefree and new.
And on a cold, wet, dreary day
The bubble-man nervously
Tried to blow a big bubble...
The glassy sheet quivers,
And bulges awkwardly towards
The side, morphing, flitting
Alas, wind has another idea.
And he huffs and puffs,
But only a measly tiny sphere appears.
Mostly the bubbles prematurely burst
Ah! Frustration.. "Is it these ageing hands?
Or perhaps my lungs? Or my eyes?" He has no clue.
And a child from the playground delights in the small bubbles
That do form, though meek.
In dejection the bubble-man decides to take the
Bubble-wand and swing, slowly swing in sadness
Aah the glory! A string of bubbles are born,
At least a dozen, all of uniform size, like a flock
Of baby geese, all plump and cheery.
And soon thereafter a bevy of children shriek with joy, and bubble with laughter.