The Eternal Question Why?

I sit alone and ponder,
the eternal question why?
And as answers come aflooding in,
I'm trying not to cry. For the tedium, pain and boredom,
of this nulifying job.
Are grinding, slowly grinding me,
to feelings very odd.
I glance over to a window,
a view out on the world.
Past a tree, and over buildings,
from a city school for girls.
But the window isn't open,
the doors around me closed.
And I'm nowhere near a garden,
nor the sea, so I suppose.
That I'll sit some more and ponder,
the eternal question why?
And if a tear is going to fall,
it'll be on the inside.

Heath Gunn