What’s the strangest alien your thinking thing can think?
Is it green and mean with velcro fur or smooth and reddish-pink?

Does it live in caves, in mountain tops, or fly through spongy seas?
Does it hunt a bunch of smaller things or munch on purple trees?

Does it act just like a millipede or like your Uncle Ray?
Does it sneak around at night or does it stomp around all day?

What language does your creature speak? Or does it speak at all?
Does it have a hundred million friends or hide along a wall?

While you think about your creature, what he’ll think and what he’ll do,
He might be sitting somewhere out there thinking up a you.

So you found an empty book, you think.
But it could be written in invisible ink…
Or the words are so small that you can’t even read
Without the specialized glasses you need.

And what would be written inside such a book
That the people who wrote it don’t want you to look?
It must be important – a really big secret,
For the authors to go to such trouble to keep it.

It could be directions to the fanciest ball,
Ever thrown in the city, or ever at all,
And the only way to get in is to whisper the phrases,
That were written and hidden somewhere in the pages.

Or it could be a map to a park filled with rides,
And you’d find that there aren’t any lines once inside.

Or maybe a lesson that teaches you Kloop,
A language spoken in whispers by the people of Floop.

Or blueprints to build a small rocket ship.

A recipe for cookies with the chocolatest chips.

A picture of Bigfoot and Abe Lincoln together.

A ten-year advance schedule of Washington’s weather.

All these things can be found if you know how to look,
Between the two covers of an old empty book.

If I were a Seuss
I wonder what I would write:
I could write about Bloos,
And his blue-ribboned kite,
In a place where the gelpers all yelp through the night,
So the meepers must sleep with their shutters shut tight.

I could write of the incredible Hairport of Henich
Whose hair-planes fly from the heads of the curly-haired Stenich
Departing and landing at other Stenich hair-stations
Carrying the Veft that have left on vacations.

Oh, what would I write if I were a Seuss?
I could tell the tale of the triple-necked goose.
How she sits at the gates of Knuflusian Knoll
While the Nettles make necklaces to pay her the toll.

I could tell of the King,
The King of Ker-Pling!
Who rides all day long on his giant Sling Swing!
And riding, he sings while he flings the Tings rings,
For he’s the silliest king that Ker-Pling’s ever seen.

Oh, if I were a Seuss, oh the wonders I’d write,
That you’d read to yourself with a little flashlight.
All the visions of sillies that dance loud and bright,
If I were a Seuss, but I’m not, so good night.

There is a land
That you can see
Where nothing’s banned
And all is free
You sit or stand
Or bend on knees
Or fly you can
Above the trees
The ship is manned
But waits for thee
The trip’s unplanned
‘Til you agree
In this place where dreams are canned
And cans can dance at your decree

And in this zone
This large estate
That’s made of stone
Or dinner plates
Or trees unknown
Both small and great
But overgrown
Over the gates
Your thoughts are thrown
High and straight
Upon a throne
To head the state
And rule the world you call your own
Employ the place that you create!

For you we send
This information
And we extend
This invitation
Won’t you attend