Out of This World

Someday, a thousand years from now, or maybe more,
I'll have my own little planet...
I'd like a fixed orbit; I'm stable like that. But once it's running,
I'd enjoy the right to man it.
(Or woman it...I suppose...whatever.)

I think I'd enjoy some river banks and willows all green and golden,

And I like clouds, big, billowing clouds, and mountains to the sky
Gardens, fountains, houses nestled quietly in the hills
And for a little variety--four moons sailing high.


Stars that twinkle in the dark,
children laughing in the park,
Cool breeze, Fall freeze, lonely trilling of the lark,

Orange skies in the evening, every now and then,
Fluffy snow, misty Fog, wet rain in the emerald glen
Roses scenting evening walks,
people around for occasional talks,
and music-I can't forget music-at least every now and then.


So this world, give or take a few weeds, mosquitos and spiders
Would be strangely similar to what I already know.

Why can't I think of something totally new--a new color at least, one that no one has ever imagined.
Or a new smell, a new sight, a new place to go.

Ah, maybe I can't really think of the new because, at heart,
I'm still too fond of the old.



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