[An old poem, retitled and slightly revised for clarity.]
If the sun were a bowling ball,
It’s been said,
the earth would be a peppercorn
somewhere down the hill
across the street.
If the earth were a bowling ball,
but I’ve read
that its face is even smoother,
ocean deeps and mountain heights
Why then should I cross an ocean
and climb a mountain,
to tell the sun
my fascination with your face?
Better just to take you bowling
and smile to see
as the pins fall.