The knots in the wood tell tales left unsaid—
of living a life that follows the bends,
while feeding the earth it continually tends.
It grows and gives, it's all in the lines—
concentric circles ever so fine.
Though cracks interrupt what was defined at its birth,
it still follows its trajectory, as planned for the earth.
The ancient sentients, oh they knew—
what course was prudent for us to follow through,
so perhaps we must humbly call on a few,
to know how to live rightly into the new—
that seems so many footprints in front of our view
yet urgently—today—begs us to pursue.
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