If you were the kind of cloud that could see,
And how do you know there are not those kinds of clouds--
How do you?
You would see a world of wild begottens as strange and,
In their own way as wonderful
As the strangest things your linear mind could imagine.
Your need for rules, to spell out ways and means of existence
Is but one more box under life's Christmas tree,
Mysterious until, all wrappings and trimmings laid aside,
Its contents plain and prosaic
Without the magic that wondering made of it.
It is the force of Imagination that blesses life
Like crystal drops of dew in early morning light.
A mind that sees more obliquely
Sees more than black and white....
Sees rainbow colors refracted
That your Science-in-Action project
Elaborately explains yet says nothing of reality
On the other side of the page.
