A Question

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One day as I was out walking
I stopped and looked the world straight in the eye
And said I have a question to ask.
And I’ll stand right here until you answer.
So I planted my feet and said
Why? Why am I here- and why are you?
Is there a point to this futile existence?
That said, I stood, awaiting the reply.

And I waited.
And as I waited, the leaves became golden
And swept past my face
And butterflies swirled before me as a pulsating cloud
And I waited.
And a cool, soft breeze caressed my face
And all around birds created a disjointed symphony
And I waited.
And the frost came and glazed the grass
And snow daintily dusted the treetops
And I grew tired of waiting.

I turned my back and left,
A little bitter, a little sad,
With no answer, I believed.
And it was not until this day that I realized
It was not so much that the world did not answer me
As that I had not liked its answer.





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