Well, what do you know?

"Why does the air
Smell sweet?"
You said this
One day;
I didn't know
What to say.

You wondered why
Your hands were rough
And why you felt sad
On Sunday afternoons.
You came up with answers
Varied, but untrue
And asked me what
I thought

"The air is sweet because
I make it sweeter for you.
And your hands are rough
Because they grasp nothing
Instead of holding me.
The world is unhappy
But you are sad
When I am not there
To make you smile."

So I turned
And looked at you
And said,
"That's life."