Patient are leaves
Already fallen from the trees
Some cling to promises of the wind
Their trembling says much of oaken oaths
Stamina is a stem
This is your sap
Running dry in the forest
These paths no longer for me
A wanderer has no home
It is every place she goes
You will not return with me
This is a forethought and a promise
Barren is the bend in the road
You find shame in the journey unfinished
Will you not see the end
This fist holds nothing against you
Much can be hidden in branches that will not bow