Almost Wordless Monday

Where am I going?  I don't know.

Down to the stream where the king cups grow--

Up on the hill where the pine trees blow--

Anywhere, anywhere.  I don't know.

Where am I going?  The clouds sail by,

Little ones, baby ones, over the sky.

Where am I going?  The shadows pass,

Little ones, baby ones, over the grass.

If you were a cloud, and sailed up there,

You'd sail on water as blue as air,

and you'd see me here in the fields and say;

"Doesn't the sky look green today?"

Where am I going?  The high rooks call:

"It's awful fun to be born at all."

Where am I going?  The ring doves coo:

"We do have beautiful things to do."

If you were a bird, and lived on high,

You'd lean on the wind when the wind came by

You'd say to the wind when it took you away:

"That's where I wanted to go today!"

Where am I going?  I don't quite know.

What does it matter where people go?

Down in the wood where the blue bells grow--

Anywhere, anywhere.  I don't know.

--A. A. Milne