The Innocence

Tell me, who made nature, so destructive yet so glorious?

Tell me, who made the flowers, so beautiful and flourishing?

Tell me, who made the lily of the valley, so pure yet so tragic?

This lily of the valley, I mean —

who droops her innocent head down, oblivious to the world around her,

she smiles down at the ground, how unaware.

Now she gently sways her white petals in the wind,

now she slowly bobs her bell-shaped head up and down.

Who made a flower so small and true,

so very deadly?

A flower so unaware of her power,

lies in front of me.

I don't know what she's smiling at.

I do know how to appreciate life, how fragile it is,

how to stroll in the fields and how to hold everything dear to me.

Tell me, would you do this too?

Admiring the small things, and wondering about them?

Tell me, what would you really do

with your delicate, young life?