Posit

We posit that the train will run on time,
Though leaves conspire on every line.
We posit that the kettle's song
Means tea is steeped, not steeped too long.

We posit love in glances shared,
A favourite song, a life prepared.
We posit truths both vast and small—
That gravity makes teacups fall.

Yet posit this: the biscuit tin,
That promised joy, is found quite thin.
The posit we made with cheerful grace?
The last one's gone. Just check the case.

So here's the posit we now face:
All that we hold as time and space,
As fact, as hope, as surely true—
Might be... just like that biscuit. Who knew?