The Riddle of Life

In brush strokes we try to understand,

The beauty of creation from His hand.

Feather, fur, horns, hooves -

Together and separate by strand.

When dawn arrives, we rise:

As young as we are small in size,

Vulnerable beings with eyes closed,

While our parents examine and surmise.

Temperate light matures our minds,

Our bodies feed on other kinds.

In swaying motion we find our mates,

In union kindred each of us binds.

Darkness sees not what creation seeks;

It comes and goes as it please.

Even beyond the ark we are blood and bone alike,

Subjects of a force’s eternal caprice.

So the riddle of life is complete:

The answer to all is we.