Conjecture

She has so many questions
and I’m sure she’ll stump me soon.
Like why’s the sun so yellow
and just how big’s the moon?

The curve of the horizon
and the work of gravity
are there in dusty textbooks,
but the rest is up to me.

Today I have the answers,
I can baffle her with fact,
but the time is swiftly coming
when I’ll have to lie with tact.

So where does hatred come from?
Also, why can’t life be fair?
How come grandma had to die?
What makes courage seem so rare?

One day I’ll have to tell her
that I really just don’t know.
It’s nothing but conjecture
and gets harder as you go.

For now, I’ll simply love her
and we’ll speak of pulsing light.
I’ll note the moon’s circumference
when I tuck her in tonight.

Then lie awake and wonder
at the truths beyond my reach
and hope she waits a little
’til she asks what I can’t teach.