A balloon, unless given life,
is just that -
Limp and forsaken.
With a puff of air
It is wildly transformed -
Transcending human imagination
Yet
Beauty exists because
There is comparison -
When the balloon is filled
It brings with it
All the colours of the world
And we marvel at its design;
It dazzles and delights.
Upon its eventual death
We mourn the passing
Of that most amazing
Object of beauty
And how it suddenly appeared
As how it suddenly disappears.
A thing of beauty does not last forever
But the memories of it do...
End.