Why is it that the winds blow right,
Why for the sun the flowers will rise;
Why but for the smell the birds do sing,
Why for the love of sight the blind will kill.
Why do we feel but when the pain is sharp,
Why is a dulled edge so hard to snap,
Why do nights be so cold and stretch so long!
Memories do die, yet smell so strong.
The night is young , yet do we sleep;
My shadows and me for memories weep,
Tis harder to forget, harder to keep,
For love and a kiss: a price too steep !
