Woven in time, kept as a  keeper of that most sacred.
            Becoming the symbol of devotion,  
though not moving always kept in the relative
surrounding. Arms woven tightly as rings of
ages are kept in the ever changing surroundings.

This is a collection of reflective knowledge,
ever growing as comprehension
            divides into fruits of a labours growth.
We are guided to grow, to flourish beyond the
speculation that makes are growth.

But  we must realize that with every fruit
that flourishes, that some will wilt and fall.
       But with each one nurtured by what we
collect from beneath our gaze,  we eventually grow.