Bubbles

Little white dancers in a sea of foam
How shall I continue this poem?

They pop and they crackle, and you can almost hear...
You just need to open you ear

They pop with a crack!
No wait, they crack with a pop!
No, I've got it all wrong,
should we start from the top?

They're little white dancers in a sea of foam
But no, that can't be the only sentence of this terrible poem

They like to fly, maybe cuz they're so light
And they're almost invisible, so they're out of sight!

They're soapy and sicky and slicky with goo,
And you squish with your fingers, like you are only two!

They pop with a crack, is it,
As they land on the floor,

And they crack with a pop, I believe,
As they fly to the door

They swirl in twinkles,
Or they tinkle in swirls,
But either way,
They're like rainbotic small whirls

So, wait, have I got it all right?
They're like little white dancers in a sea of white foam,
And indeed, this may be the start of my sad little poem,

I've said they make noises,
And of course they do,

So what else is there left?
What else to do?

Well I belive that they fly,
Yes indeed, I've mentioned that,
And have I also told you? No?

Well that land with a SPLAT!