I worry not about the how and why,
It is instead the what and when I seek.
If to the manufacturing you peek,
You may find the process feels so awry;
So what? Who cares how the sun hits the sky?
Would it have less beauty if it were meek
in how it cast its warmth upon the sea?
Would the light it gives have a bleaker shine?
It is the product we find at the end,
That strikes with its unrelenting beauty.
It is the result of the ink and pen
That generate the works that are moving.
I justify my means by their end, then;
And fret not if those means are found cruelly.
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