Why are we made
to suffer and cry
when so much beauty
surrounds us- to die

when we’re in
the spring of life
when all the flowers
are dancing by our side?

  Our love is still so nascent
  waiting to bloom- to deny?
  We are yet to share the best
   ere the dusk hours draw nigh-

    to music I turn
    for consolation - there I fly
    where tears don’t appear
   and pain and suffering never pass by.