Why Is It So One Wonders Poem by Peter S. Quinn

I am what I am nothing more
Twist in the head
Waves bringing reasons to shore
Colors of autumn that bleed
Perhaps a bloom without a hill
Tree in a garden of green
Dreams of the sunset to spill
What it knows and has seen

There are ideas and things
Slander and bright spoken
Some of it bouquet brings
Just as a thought or a token
Capable of their indecision
A rose that in thorns wanders
Clumsiest disguise in precision
Why is it so one wonders?

Laugh not today but tomorrow
Indubitable like the wind
Or even the pins of saguaro
When into the soft they are pinned
Beneath the clumsiest disguise
The fields are wind being
Bright slender her lovely eyes
For only the mountains seeing