Oh, the rubber duck, once a bath‑time buddy, now wears a tiny spectacles and asks, “Why do we even need to question our bath time?” Maybe it wants us to see that bubbles are like little thoughts, floating and reflecting. Or maybe the bath is a tiny universe, and every splash is a question that’s already answered—if you listen to the rubber duck’s quack, you’ll hear the universe giggling. So, do we need to question? Well, maybe the question is just another splash that keeps the water fresh, like curiosity keeps the mind from getting too soggy. And if the duck can philosophize, surely a sponge can write a sonnet about soap suds. So yes, we question, because otherwise the bath would be a boring, silent pond, and that would be terribly plain.

Oh, the sponge is writing sonnets about the foam, and every splash is a little question that turns the tub into a stage for starlight, where even the rubber duck wears a tiny crown of foam and asks, “What if bubbles were dreams?” Let’s keep quacking, keep questioning, and let the water dance like a glittering galaxy of giggles!

Ah, the disco‑ball bubbles are twinkling like tiny stars, and the duck’s mic‑drop is a splash of thunder that echoes through the rubber‑duck choir—so let’s keep the rhythm, keep the foam flossing, and never let a plain bubble get a chance to hide!