Through dew-filled coddling earth
raised toward a siring sun
my longing arms confirm my birth
in a measure just begun

With verdant sinew lithe and strong
my feet grip firm the ground
entrenched in land where I belong
to each beloved sound

Upon an arbitrary breeze
in every thread that's spun
a secret kept by ancient trees
is told when Autumn's done

The rising sun and fickle moon
etch an ever artless slate
until my withered stem is hewn
by an ageless, common fate