what is beauty if not the setting sun? Or the blooming of flowers in the spring? What of waves dancing across the ocean? Or of the songs that all mockingbirds sing? Are people capable of acts divine? Capable of beauty replication? Or in the eyes of Gods are we but swine? We were not destined for such creation But, it's your hand that paints the setting sky You're the warmth that lets plants flourish once more Your heart is the beat that all things go by The conductor of its musical score You are life and all that there is to see All that is known and lies in mystery
Hi Mrs Dowd it's Carlos from your creative writing class. Adding this here just in case you come across this in a google search.