If I climb a giant beanstalk, where might it take me?
Above the tallest cloud and past the farthest sea?
Would the grass be dappled pink with singing flowers,
trees with blue leaves and taller than towers?
How about a babbling brook with a soft rush of waves,
splashing on diamonds, disappearing into emerald caves?
What if the sky in this place, instead of hues of blue,
is a glowing canvas of pink with an orange glaze, too?
And when my tummy growls hungry, all I’ll have to do
is touch my right temple and brew up a stew.
If it’s sweet giant corn that rather tickles my fancy,
or a watermelon slice so tall that I can’t see,
past the very top nor around either side,
a nice nibbled tunnel chewed down to the hide
will fill up my tummy, so yummy, so yummy,
so off to sleep on a me-sized feather
is where I’ll want to go, in beautiful weather
with flowers humming lullabies and wind blowing me to rocking,
I’ll rest my tired feet from all the climbing and the walking.
But what will I dream that could possibly be more grand,
than my world above the sky in my very own land?
I’ll dream of you, with me, in that place,
holding my hand, drifting together, at our blissful pace.