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If If freckles were lovely, and day was night, And measles were nice and a lie warn't a lie, Life would be delight,— But things couldn't go right For in such a sad plight I wouldn't be I. If earth was heaven and now was hence, And past was present, and false was true, There might be some sense But I'd be in suspense For on such a pretense You wouldn't be you. If fear was plucky, and globes were square, And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee Things would seem fair,— Yet they'd all despair, For if here was there We wouldn't be we. —e.e. cummings (Born: October 14, 1894)

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