Tree trunk growth
In stretch then girth
What lies beneath un seen
Only those feathers protected
And beautiful
Glistening and gorgeous
Are displayed for the world to see.


But those uglier apendages
Those tentacle whites
Those bulging twists
Those dirt covered whiskers
Which search in the darkness with ease
For miles unseen...
They are hidden.
And exposed to the rays of the sun
They wood turn to dust.
But hidden in the filth
They sustain that which is beautiful
That which is seen
That which is offered to all.