When a flower wilts,
It hurts the bee,
So does it bother the thirsty,
When the last drop of the river dries,
Oars are no longer worthy,
Does the boat forget its journey?
Does the plant remember its child?
Or the bee forgets to rue
The loss of a good thing in its life?
When you to the heavens turn,
And the last light catches its end,
Some bask in the glory of the night,
While for some, a day has merely darkened.
Does the moth remember the sun?
Or chooses to find a light to burn,
Does the owl love every bit of it,
Or falls into a pit of concern?
When a moon wanes
Every fortnight comes,
A likelihood less likely to return,
Does the tide feel it might not rise again?
Does the pack suspend its hunt?
Does the wolf believe it might never howl?
Does the water find its depth?
Do they all know something we don’t,
And somehow learn to be content?
Don’t you see that nature sees
Its dying sons every day,
Tomorrows barely make it here,
We mourn every loss today.
Is it because it has a lot to spare,
That nothing is supposed to be rare?
Or the fact that everything that ever exists
Hardly goes anywhere.