Who decides
When a tree branch falls?
When a rock crumbles?
When a storm destroys walls?
Who manipulates
The sound of the wind?
The colors of the trees?
The appearance of a friend?
Odd, is it not?
That final request,
For it comes not from nature,
But from human intellect.
The branches, the rocks,
The storms and the walls,
The wind in the trees,
The roar of the falls.
They all yield
To an unknown force,
Yet humans, it seems,
Take a quite different course.
We plan our own future,
And yet what remains?
Who tells us we're needed
When the needy refrains?
Perception is something,
Quite human, it's true.
But when we saw nothing,
Who told us? Who knew?
