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