I could paint upon a stage,

Upon myself, another name,

And fool the watchers with my art,

And die in beds of green and fame.

                Or I could paint upon a mind

                An image of a larger earth,

                A history of kings and queens,

                Of villains’ life and heroes’ death.

I could play on magic wood

And bring to life a siren’s song.

With bow and string, I’d fire my shot

And all my lis’ners pull along.

                Or I could whisper written words

                In children’s ears, to their delight

                And teach them rhymes of love and grief

                To give their souls a clearer sight.

I could dance across the world

And leap in ecstasy and flame.

Lift my hand, lower my head

And hear the crowds murmur my name.

                Or I could be an unknown face,

                The smile in a child’s mind

                That fostered questions of the world

                And raised his eyes to things divine.

And I could write a masterpiece

Of tragedy and nameless fears

And heartless kill my heroine

And bring my audience to tears.

                But if I touched a child's heart

                And made him yearn to understand,

                To know, to think, then I would be

                Still satisfied, and willing, end.