Then how come it is?

All alone amidst giant oaks,
Stands a lonely young flower.
Gently swaying in innocent breezes,
And enjoying soft sunshine and an occasional shower.

As the hour glass of time kept spilling its sand,
The little rose did more than just sway.
It bore the brunt of life all alone,
As thunder, lightning and rain came its way.

But as they say, all bad things come to an end,
The rose survived the storm to face a rainbow lit day.
Among millions of those giant old oaks,
The gentle rose again began to sway.

Then one day, a man came along,
And began to strike an oak to and fro.
But whether he wanted to or not,
He slashed the rose with one easy go.

The beheaded rose lay in its earthy grave,
Due to one who towards beauty was blind.
"No! This can't be the end of such a precious life," Yelled my heart,
"Then how come it is. . ..." wondered my mind.