It is beautiful;
was the sky always this blue
and lucid with creme lent away by
the heaven's tears?

It is beautiful;
were the oceans always this vast
and dark with the mystique of the millennia
chipped away at stone, like a forsaken
mason?

It is beautiful;
were the peaks and valleys always this detailed
wrinkled with strokes of cosmic paint, ridged like
a sheet of linen?

It is beautiful;
was the sky always as blue as the oceans?
Were the mountains always higher than the waves?
Was the snow always mingling with the clouds?

It is beautiful;
and, what a wonderful world
for us to borrow
for a just moment.