It's sanded pine
Near endless time
And summers spent on nothing at all
An investment in the gracious fade
Of seasons without age
And a blend of being
Over the trees which seek to cover all

No land knows not of over reach
Of these human ways which mingle in
And char the dirt like blackened earth
And yet the mother forgives us
Again and again for the feeling of grace
And the ambitiousness of man
Which know no end

And so
We begin again