who knows if the moon's

a balloon, 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 balloon,

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




Spring)and everyone's

in love and flowers pick themselves


E.E. Cummings