They have asked me why.
And so I put my knuckles to my chin, my elbow to the hand-carved table, and try to remember how to speak to another human.
I say,

for the trees have no eyes
the wolves have no brows
the stars just but glimmer
the moon only bows

yes, the rocks do not hate
and bugs will plan not
and i can't quite recall
a butterfly ever shot

my horse does not cry
the river carries whim
while birds cannot judge
especially Him

well, the sun only loves
and the music is mine
forever revolving
forever in time

I say,
society gathers in the meadows out there
so why drown in busy despair
a life reflecting not a mirror, but
an image that truly does not care