Why?

The moon rises. The moon falls.

Grass grows green. Trees grow tall.

Love and beauty can be found

in the woods all around.

Young birds hatch in the spring.

Some die young. Some live to sing.

Much happiness they may bring

To sad people as they sing.

But many songs will not be heard

from those who die as a young bird.

Here on earth we live and die.

Loved ones ask the Question, “Why?”

The moon rises. The moon falls.

Grass grows green. Trees grow tall.

Young squirrels sit on the ground

Eating nuts they have found.

Some sit high in tall trees,

Chattering, barking in the breeze.

But some fall as predators pray.

To hawk or eagle, who can say?

Man may come with a gun

to hunt squirrels with his son.

Here on earth we live and die.

Loved ones ask the Question, “Why?”

The moon rises. The moon falls.

Grass grows green. Trees grow tall.

Far away upon a hill

rabbits are hopping, some are still.

Mother rabbits, their young protect,

For old enough they are not yet.

But comes a fox to the field.

For him to live a rabbit is killed.

Mother mourns the loss of her young one.

To protect now, there are none.

Here on earth we live and die.

Loved ones ask the question, “Why?”

 The moon rises. The moon falls.

Grass grows green. Trees grow tall.

A lonely buck appears to stand

on the mountain tall and grand.

But look closely, you may find,

A doe and fawn close behind.

Their enemies love to boast.

Stillness protects them the most.

But alas, some are found.

Their blood spilled upon the ground.

Here on earth we live and die.

Loved ones ask the question, “Why?”

The moon rises. The moon falls.

Grass grows green. Trees grow tall.

A large bird in the sky,

Flies gracefully, flies so high.

When it comes down to land,

Ugly it is, eating death on the sand.

For it must clean away the dead.

That is its job of dread.

It is shunned by everyone,

But lovely it is high in the sun.

Here on earth we live and die.

Loved ones ask the question, “Why?”

The moon rises. The moon falls.

Grass grows green. Trees grow tall.

A baby is conceived. Life has begun.

Becoming a cute girl or handsome son.

Time flies by oh too fast.

Parents wish their youth would last.

But children grow to be adults.

Then protection becomes insults.

Death will come to everyone.

We live. We love, then it is done.

An accident, you might suspect,

Or foolishness in retrospect.

Be it foolishness or accident.

‘Tis very sad, their life is spent.

“Oh no not him!” A parent cries.

“Make him live, let me die.

The realities will remain.

Cry and mourn they stay the same.

Young or old death may strike.

Though we struggle and we fight.

For all on earth that lives, dies.

Away from here somewhere it flies.

Do we simply cease to exist?

Or are we given Holy assist?

You believe, as you will.

In the Lord, believe I still.

For,

The moon rises. The moon falls.

Grass grows green. Trees grow tall.

Here on earth we live and die.

Still,

Loved ones ask the question,

“Why?”

A. L. Shipman Jr.    1981

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