If I were a dream, I'd want you as the dreamer,                                                          

if I were a song, I'd want you as the tune,                                                   

if I were a day, I'd want you as the sunlight,                        

and if I were a night, I'd want you as the moon.                               

If I were a storm I'd want you as the lightning,                    

if I were a beach I'd want you as the sand,                           

if I were a field I'd want you as the flowers,             

and if I were a glove I'd want you as the hand.                                  

If I were a thought I'd want you as the wisdom,                    

if I were a fire I'd want you as the flame,                             

if I were a sound I'd want you are the airwaves,                    

and if I were fine art I'd want you as the frame.                                 

If I were a book I'd want you as the story,

if I were a leaf I'd want you as the tree,

if I were a stone I'd want you as the sculpture,

and if I were a ship I'd want you as the sea.

If I were a lake I'd want you as the shoreline,

if I were a bird I'd want you as my wings,

if I were a thread I'd want you as the weaving, 

and if I were a year I'd want you as the Spring.

If I were a dance I'd want you as the rhythm,

if I were a bell I'd want you as the chime,

if I were a child I'd want you as the future,

and if I were a poem I'd want you as the rhyme.

(Included in Through the Mist, Copyright Dudley Weeks, 2002