No one questions the withered flowers,
Their quiet retreat from the sun.
No one asks the dried-up ponds,
Why they surrendered to the earth's thirst.
The moon, in its waxing and waning,
Goes unchallenged for vanishing into shadow.
The ocean's restless waves,
Are left to rise and fall without reproach.
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*Yet humans—
We question, we criticize, we demand answers,
From those caught in life's storms.
Why must we probe into pain?
Why must we cast judgment on those who struggle,
Suffocate, or falter?
When did compassion become conditional?
When did compassion become conditional?
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