The sun it sets on an idle day,
and wonders why it rose;
a fruitless day of doubts and hate,
of friends who turn to foes.

As the petals shrivel on the rose,
they wonder why they bloom;
for the beauty grants the spring it's step
but winter doth ever loom.

As the birds migrate the season,
they wonder why they fly away;
why cross the many changing suns..
just to pass another day.

As my heart, it breaks in two,
it wonders why still it loves.
For it no longer has the wings
blessed upon the birds above.