Why are trees?
If you ask me "What are trees?" I'll tell you right quick, Woody plants, by the billions, some thin and some thick!
"How are trees?" - you'd retort, and I'd tell you that too, A story of seeds, pollinators and small starts that grew,
"Where are trees?" you'd then query, "that you can't prove!" Go outside, there are trees, and if not, you should move!!
I sit back and recline having answered your questions, But then a smirk starts to form as you look my direction,
You open your mouth and utter these words: "Why are trees?"
In an instant I'm changed, at a loss, and befuddled, The picture I'd painted so clearly is muddled,
Why is anything here? Why is anything not? How can I answer without weeks of thought?
I must tell you I don't know, as I fall to my knees, I'm haunted, I'm sleepless, I'm adrift on the seas,
Reality floats off, and up, out, and back, All logic is gone, and each night I'm attacked,
I'm shaking and shivering and starting to freeze, The only thing left now is to scream - "Why are trees?!?"