I question...


Why this morningís unseasonable dusty whirlwind
had to blow away my freshly sown radish seeds.


Why, only yesterday, a lightning strike out of the blue targeted the tallest
and most beautiful tree in our park to scatter its splintered trunk
right across our childrenís playing field.


Why, just the other day, that beautiful orange-tailed
black cockatoo had to have its wing amputated to save its life
when it will never fly again.


But I certainly must know why, scarcely a week ago,
that young mother had to die in childbirth,
leaving the innocent babe the hunger of a lifetime
for her motherís love.


I question the purpose of all this wanton pain and destruction,
and this makes me a rebel.


What can we learn from this when we can seldom make it better?

The task is awesome, too great.


Where to begin?


And when is payback time?


George Barnard