A child fires off question after question to their mother, the kind of simple "why" that children ask about everything. Why is the grass green? Why is the sky blue? Why do people die? The questions start playful and curious, even silly, like the one about taste buds, then slowly grow heavier. Death, tears and pain slip in among the lighter wonders, and the child treats them all as equally puzzling.
The last question changes everything. The speaker asks "just one more" and finally turns to the mother's own sadness: why did she cry when father left, until she could cry no more? This is the question the child has really been working toward. The earlier ones feel like a way of building courage.
The mood is tender and quietly heartbreaking. The childlike voice makes the poem sound innocent, but the final lines show a child who has noticed far more than the adults realise. The line "c opulent cry" looks garbled in the text, so I'd read it as the mother crying until she had no tears left.