“What is the world made of?” I wonder

Maybe plastic,

Maybe metals,

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.