If all that exists can be seen with our eyes

then why does the wind wear such a disguise?

It’s seen in the leaves on the branches that sway

it’s felt in the air on a blustery day.

It carries the rain to the left and the right

but still it’s unseen, both morning and night.

If all that exists is what’s under our feet

then why do the earth and the sky never meet?

The tallest of mountains reach up through the clouds

but never, not once, does the sky touch the ground.

How are the planets suspended in space?

How did each one of them find their own place?

If all that’s been sung is not bound for reprise

then why does the water reflect all the trees?

Why do the seasons perfect the same song?

Over and over, they’ve sung for so long.

Cold wages war with the warmth that must come

though all the refining’s already been done

Ceaseless, unending, and tall is the task

achieving perfection, the kind that will last.

If all that exists is the way it should be

Then why, Sweet Perfection, do my eyes long to see?

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