“What is the world made of?” I wonder
Maybe rubber or sawdust, then I wonder
Is there a chance that it could be petals?
Books I’ve read, dictionaries I’ve searched,
But none of them revealed the answers.
Places I’ve gone to, people I’ve questioned
Musicians and dignified dancers.
I thought I should be wiser
Just to realize what it is
But one’s childhood is the exact time
To learn an answer to this.
Meetings and partings,
happiness and sadness,
The world is a mixture of feelings.
Mountains and hills of curiosity set up
To hide all answers revealing.