At first we have nothing,
This nothing dissolves and turns to a bucket,
This bucket we have is first shown,
Tossed, tumbled, then played with.

We are then shown we can fill it,
With solids, with liquids, with gases if needed,
We’re told not to touch for penalties ensue,
At this stage we won’t question this statement’s truth.

We’re then taught how to fill it,
But still at arms distance,
We might be shown a few times,
With independence impeded. 

We’re then allowed to fill it ourselves,
With mixed results; a spill here, a spill there,
Some fill to the top,
While others don’t care.

Of those that have started to fill up their bucket,
We wonder why we were taught,
We question the reason of such thought,
If we could do it, why could another not?

We then explore our surroundings,
Immerse ourselves different waters,
Look at our bucket, and then we ponder.

We then realize why we were taught such a chore,
Our buckets are all different,
Even those of friends that grew very close,
The beauty within these vessels extends,
Beyond the boundaries our minds comprehend.