Who knows if the moon's a baloon, coming out of a keen city
in the sky-filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should get into it,
if they should take me and take you into their baloon,
why then we'd go up higher with all the pretty people
than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen city
which nobody's ever visited,
where always its Spring)
and everyone's in love
and flowers pick themselves.
E.E.Cummings
