Perhaps every red rose withered and died.
would love’s dancing garden still blossom in the spring?
Perhaps all mothers were selfish and cruel.
Would deer be as gentle? Children as sweet?
Perhaps every note of music mysteriously disappeared.
Would the rhythm of our hearts be flat, tired, and dry?
Perhaps every color was the same shade of grey.
Would paperclips and concrete be as thrilling as rainbows?
This world lets us wonder, speculate, and guess
For we stand in front of a half-open door
Holding a half-written book
Under the half-lit sky
Counting our lucky stars
because no amount of “what if’ing”
Can imagine this world away
