A slap, a splash, a crack, crash or crush - 
Three atoms, bland, joined in holding hands,
Yet what invention fills those simple bands?
It fills our lands and flows in grasses lush.
When cold, it’s either hard as armored stone
Or soft as sand in crystals all so rare.
When hot, it ghosts itself into the air
Or clusters in the clouds as cotton’s clone.
We drink it as our daily potion, pour
It, swim it, skate and ski it, roll around.
It fills our eyes, our veins and ears for sound
And steams our breath in laughter, song, or lore.
Who but with childish joy of life and play
Could make such magic in so small a way?