That which goes cannot know
the thing you need, like trees, to grow.
The mushroom knows and so the willow,
but that which goes,
which moves cannot.
The grooves they choose
what is to fill them,
and the roots they loose none but the lightest stones,
for they know their home is close
and that their is no need to reach,
for the stars from so far still teach
the thing you need, like trees, to grow.

Slow down,
and that which once was out of grasp
clasps itself to you.