The push of the playfairy will not
Coalesce with green tales of the
Plush and prickly, but the child will
Play, and why not? The sunburnt moon
Will not crash in the sea, but it will
Want to, and why not? Some corner of
The wayfarer and some nook of the pun
Will want to crisscross their abysses.
I wish I could take a quiet corner in the heart of my baby’s very own world.
I know it has stars that talk to him, and a sky that stoops down to his face to amuse him with its silly clouds and rainbows.
Those who make believe to be dumb, and look as if they never could move, come creeping to his window with their stories and with trays crowded with bright toys.
I wish I could travel by the road that crosses baby’s mind, and out beyond all bounds;
Where messengers run errands for no cause between the kingdoms of kings of no history;
Where Reason makes kites of her laws and flies them, and Truth sets Fact free from its fetters.