Where am I going? I don't quite know. <br />Down to the stream where the king-cups grow- <br />Up on the hill where the pine-trees blow- <br />Anywhere, anywhere. I don't know. <br /> <br />Where am I going? The clouds sail by, <br />Little ones, baby ones, over the sky. <br />Where am I going? The shadows pass, <br />Little ones, baby ones, over the grass. <br /> <br />If you were a cloud, and sailed up there, <br />You'd sail on water as blue as air, <br />And you'd see me here in the fields and say: <br />'Doesn't the sky look green today?' <br /> <br />Where am I going? The high rooks call: <br />'It's awful fun to be born at all.' <br />Where am I going? The ring-doves coo: <br />'We do have beautiful things to do.' <br /> <br />If you were a bird, and lived on high, <br />You'd lean on the wind when the wind came by, <br />You'd say to the wind when it took you away: <br />'That's where I wanted to go today!' <br /> <br />Where am I going? I don't quite know. <br />What does it matter where people go? <br />Down to the wood where the blue-bells grow- <br />Anywhere, anywhere. I don't know.<br /><br />Alan Alexander Milne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spring-morning-7/
