I think that Earth is such a lovely thing,
So rich with color as it slowly turns,
Intensely blue, so many greens in spring,
And browns of every hue from gold to burnt,
And, oh! the zebras! and the blooming trees!—
You say what? From Larch Mountain you looked down
And saw things as you think I always see?
What other way is there to look but down?
What do you mean, you like to see me rise?
And how could all the leaves just glow in spring?
You say that overhead you’ve got blue skies?
You have a shadow? What’s this rainbow thing?
Perhaps it’s really true (though who knows why?)
There’s more to people than what meets the eye.