Why is it? (a Poem)

I was walking along one cloudy day,

And had a thought upon the way,

What exactly is it that makes us all think

That something’s only right when it’s written in ink?

You’re most probably thinking, “What does she mean?

‘Life instructions’ on paper I never have seen.

What is this poem? This girl is insane!”

Well then please have patience and let me explain…

On this particular day did I so choose,

To wear such a coat that I never could lose,

For this coat was surely the colour of fun;

A brighter shade of yellow than that of the sun!

As I walked down the road with my head held high,

Something in particular did catch my eye:

So many facial expressions were hazy,

I could see they were thinking, “That girl must be crazy!”

But to you, fellow poet, I do ask you this:

Why is it at nature we always do hiss?

"Bright orange with purple? God, what a clash!"

Two colours of nature who met in a crash.

So many of nature’s amazing creations

We dismiss in a myriad of deviations.

F sharp with F natural in the key of G major?

Dear me, Beethoven, that’s a bit of a wager!

Speech. Another of nature’s wonders,

Yet something which in all our minds thunders,

When we hear being spoken ‘improper grammar,’

We find ourselves saying, “Put down the hammer…”

So I ask again why we all think

That something’s only right when it’s written in ink.

Making up thingamejigs in the middle of Pictionary?

Hey, wait a second, that’s not in the dictionary!

And so I return to my original point,

Why is it that our opinions are joint

To everyone else’s on this planet?

Just look at the Earth and thoroughly scan it.

I promise you’ll discover a wonder of things,

Like that of the way the nightingale sings.

Humans forget they are just as natural

As that colour of yellow I sported so casual.

© 2010 by Daniella Wood. All rights reserved. Copying without permission is illegal and will be prosecuted