Why can't we see beauty
In all things that die?
Is it because we are afraid
Of saying goodbye?

We see art in the leaves
That fall in the autumn
But they are dying
Descending to the bottom

And we pick flowers
For the ones we adore
And the life in that flower
Cannot be restored

So why do we see beauty
In only some things that die?
Maybe it will always be a mystery
And we'll never know why