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Why
does the rose become a rose?
It just knows to be a rose
And not a tulip, plant or tree
Canary, ant or bumblebee.
The oak it knows what it's to be.
Not banyon, spruce or maple tree.
The fruit it bears, a squirrel's feast.
Not so for man or other beast.
Why are fins on fish and whales
And not on owls and cottontails?
If birds were launched without their wings
And bees and wasps without their stings
How different would our world become
For all God's creatures, Not just some.
How does the monarch know to fly?
It's born to know; to do or die.
Just like the spider, deer or cat,
It's programmed to begin like that.
It's why your eyes are not your nose,
Your ears or elbows, feet or toes.
Every atom, every space
From scorpion to human race,
A perfect plan in perfect time,
Like harmony and flawless rhyme.
A symphony of nature's glory,
God directs the sounds and story.
Why does the rose become a rose.
To be a rose is all it knows.
Devine creations, each are we.
That's why you're you
And why I'm me.
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