Can a kite be sent up to the sky?
Why does the wind prickle as the rose?
Can a question be sent up to Heaven?
Why are we unworthy for the ones we love?
Who makes the muddy water clear?
By not with leer and fear.
Who brings the night moon near?
By not with lure and steer.
No matter surf and turf
By means of nerve and verve
There shall be a cure
To let you hear
In me, what's dear.