The hare dug up the soil
Seeking life among the sycamore roots,
Gentle rhythms serenading the earth,
Yet it stopped,
Calling how rude the hare
For ripping at its surface
But the hare shan't care, for it means little to the earth,
As the earth means nothing to the North Star.
So why shall the small be placed large among the worries
Haunting the lively marble.
To say

If you seek a rose within a wheat field you shall search forever.