The Magnificent Beauty

There's age. Youth. Middle. Old. Departing from this world. Alone.
The birds. The sky. The river. The sun will always remain out of our reach. They endure. Year after year. The same. Sometimes filled with anger. Reneed. Consumed by a roaring attraction to turbulence. Yet they mostly stay the same. 
My mother and father are ageing in a way that I despise, their faces seen through the lenses of time. My children are growing up, handsome and young. Yet, the reality of ageing troubles me. 
He is gone, the star of my girlish dreams, a gem of French cinema. Why? I cry out and ask nature foolishly, can't you be more forgiving to the beautiful, to the valuable among us all? Can't you spare the time, the magnificent beauties, the sharpest creative minds, the visionaries, fabulous stars for all time? 
I hear no answer, but the evening breeze settles on the tree branches of a glorious day far behind.