We burn all our life and at last Death too contributes,
It’s the Mortals and not the Wood, who follow its attributes.
I asked Mother Nature, in Water, what did you miss to inculcate,
It floats a dead but drowns a swimmer and behaves so disparate.
As autumn sets in, flowers from the tree begin to spurt,
Though we don’t hear its sound, doesn’t mean they don’t get hurt.
Every flora and fauna has to live apiece as distinct chapter,
For Blossom remains natural and Bloom comes thereafter.
Can’t every Mortal have his individual sky,
So that when he feels he can soar and fly.
Can’t every Mortal write his own destiny and then die,
This child questions you, Why Mother Nature..Why?