why do i create?

i looked up to my Father and i asked him, 
"Papa, why do i create?
why have i, since i was young, been perfecting my scribbled handwriting
and colliding melodies with words
and putting pen to paper
and gluing dead flowers to pretty paper 
and going crazy with glitter
and taking picture after picture of simple things?"

and he looked down at me, his beloved daughter and whispered,
"do you not see the trees? 
i didn't have to let flowers and apples grow from them,
i didn't have to make them burst forth with color when the weather grew cold
or let snow cloak them when they grew bare.
do you not hear the birds?
i chose to make them sing.
you are always in awe over flowers.
do you not realize i chose to have them bloom and burst and grow?

you create, my daughter, because you are like your Father."