Roly Poly, It's All Holy

If rain was more valuable than the rarest of pearls,

would you greet it with open arms, let it wake you up to the world?

On Saturn, it rains diamonds.  Look it up, it's true.

And rain can be sad,

pollution turns it blue.

If the wind carried secrets, would you listen and promise not to tell?

Would you lean in when it whispers, pay attention when it yells?

If trees were historians, would you let them be your teachers,

or would you stick to men in suits and ties and other false preachers?

If grass was a magic carpet,

would you lay down on it to be transported to a mysterious kingdom

where armies of ants have mysterious missions

and snails write encoded messages in slime?

What if dogs could hear your heartbeat across a crowded room,

and use their noses to smell emotions and tell time?

What if all bats were cartographers, creating maps to places you will never see?

And what if most of the stars were already ghosts, living in eternity?

Would it make you more thoughtful, peaceful and tender

If you knew elephants had funerals and clownfish changed genders?

If you knew that a crow could remember your face and hold a grudge,

would you make friends with it just in case?

Or stick a straw man in your head and refuse to budge?

If you knew that moss could die and then come back to life,

would you celebrate it on a holy day?

Or would you roll yourself up in a ball like a scared roly-poly,

too stubborn to acknowledge that all days are holy?