The Magnolia

She wears a pure, pink dress. Nature is her sanctuary. Curiosity is her comfort. She sits among the fallen, pink petals Of the magnolia tree And wonders: Why must the petals plummet, Leaving the trunk blackened and bare? The once soft, smooth petals Have become withered, wilted, Their distant trunk exhausted, parched. Why must nature be so cruel? Why must the young mind never rest? Juvenile questions satiate her curiosity While existential ones suffocate. Unexplainable phenomena maintain a habitat, Not in the magnolia, but in her head. The puzzle of existence overpowers The instincts and adaptations of nature. Science can explain the latter. The petals must plummet So the tree can survive The wicked conditions of winter. But how must the young girl grip with The flood of unanswered reflections? Inquiries into nature quickly become futile For an adolescent. Dreadful, empty pits of interrogation Into inward contemplation creep into the mind Creating conditions inhospitable to innocence. If only I could tell her To bear these ambiguities for just a little longer before they leave her bare. She must conquer these queries Before they conquer her.