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Literature Text
I tend to wonder about things a lot.
Maybe it's good, but maybe it's not.
I ask the tree,
"Why do you stand still?
Do you ever want to run
All the way up a hill?
And why do you change your colours through seasons?
I think it is beautiful.
That must be your reason."
I ask the toy ball,
"Why are you so round?
Why do you roll and bounce
And make a weird sound?
You must like being played with!
It must be a joy
To have fun and play
With all the other toys."
I ask the pillow,
Why are you so soft? Why must you lay in bed all day
Or up in a loft?
Well, you are the spot where I dream!
I like to dream about cats.
And you're soft, comfy, and support me.
I wanna thank you for that."
I ask the sky,
"Why are you so bright?
Why do your stars shine
So beautifully at night?
Sometimes I lay down and look at you and think,
What mysteries do you hold,
My mind is at its brink!"
So I think it's fine to wonder about what I see.
But here's something else;
Do they wonder about me?
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