Who are you?
    Chaff on the wind?
    Child on the swing?
    An acorn falling midst the thick of Fall?

And what are you?
    A babbling brook?
    A winding road?
    Or a born tree with lead lined ink, skyscraper tall?

Why are you so?
    A constant ache?
    A worried mind?
    A mentality amongst those most small?

And who are you?
    And what are you?
       And why must I ask?
         Are you even here at all?