If the Madness chose to meander

Down the path of misty years

She’d never say a word that would

Fall meaningfully on the ears

If the Indigo chose to idolise

Plato’s pure ideal

She’d sadly sit at Socrates’ feet

Indolently scorning what’s real

If the Delight ignored the despair

That lurks in dusty cloisters

She’d waltz through life oblivious

And daringly live on oysters

If the Summer solstice did not soothe

With a single sunlit dawn

She’d never save us from ourselves

We’d still be sorrowfully gone

If the Underworld knew how to uproot

Death’s powerful upper hand

She’d take out a patent to protect

 An understandably precious brand

If the Misgiving could not mollify

That doubt, though mild and small

She’d surely lose the battle

Crawl murkily under a knoll

If the Mortification tried to mould

That mutinous streak so cranky

She’d be left to lick her wounds

And sniff moistly into her hankie

If the Endeavour could not explain

Her elephantine ego

She’d never find a spouse to wed

Even elegantly in Rio

If the Relativity chose to rouse

Einstein’s rusty old theory

She’d be turning happy cartwheels

And be rightfully tapsulteerie