Why each year do blooms return
Same as before, this soothing change
Like gentle waves moved as the sun
And moon and Earth in awe arrange?
These blooms that are so known they’re hid
From wonder – trapped under its lid.
And why do people start again
In days cold, dreary and slate-gray,
And tread through walls strong and unseen,
And then repeat it all next day?
There must be something hidden there
That powers through and makes for care.
And why does string make melody
When pressed with hair that’s stretched and smooth?
Why don’t the two just scratch and bleed
And the ether’s inside never soothe?
So new it’s old, so old it’s new,
In places deep and places true.
And why do laughter, talk and smiles,
Why do warmth and things unbought,
Find wonder’s subtle center too?
These things unlearned and things untaught.
The answer reflects clear like rain
That falls and stops and falls again.
And why do questions echo on
Same as before, but different-sourced,
As generations pass to next
In cycles loved and cycles forced?
It’s always known, it’s always not,
And that’s the mystery of the lot.


1 Comment

Filed under Poems

One response to “Why?

  1. Pingback: YOU ARE MY EARTH | hastywords

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