Beautiful Life

How doth a bluebird sing,
And morning bells loudly ring, 
Or a baby cry, 
Or a plane fly? 

None of these seems as mysterious as you
My fair and kindly friendly friend;
For all these seem to have an end. 
For while parts of you die, 
You're never out of supply. 
Way gives to way, 
As day gives to day,
And all has its balance. 
They say you are a circle, 
I say you are a miracle 
Even on the dreariest of days.