When I was little,
I used to wonder,
Where did water come from?

From the big blue blanket,
Up in the air,
Or from down in the dark tunnels,
Underneath our feet.

I grew up,
Still thirsty for knowledge,
Sitting in front of the teacher,
Who bestowed such great,
Information to me.

He told us the world,
Is a wonderful place,
Where magic happens,
Everyday.

The day was January 30th 2015,
When I learnt,
That the world,
Was not full of magic,
But full of science.

I learnt that the water,
Did in fact come from,
The big blue blanket,
In the sky,
But it was more complicated,
Than that.

The water first comes down,
From the big white,
Fluffy pillows in the sky,
Turning into ,
Tears trailing down the mountain,
They call this Precipitation.

Those tears of pain,
Trail down,
the mountain,
Leaving no trace behind,
But to join the rest,
Of the tears,
Surrounding the mountains base,
They call this Runoff.

Free at last,
Those tears reach the ground,
Mixing into the soil
That Mother Nature provided,
They call this Percolation.

They travel,
Up in to the roots,
Of the tree,
Making a new home,
In the canoe of green,
They call this Transpiration.

The yellow ball of light,
Shows itself ,
Turning the tears into vapor,
They call this Evaporation.

The glistening drops of water,
Are never gone,
The vapor turns back,
Into the liquid,
They call this Condensation.

The cycle starts again,
The tears start to form,
But not always for the same reason,
They call this the Water Cycle.

My thirst is relinquished,
For I have been filled,
With the knowledge,
Of where water comes from.