Here stand in sod - the roots we've got
Grown up and down in this old plot
Best thoughts to flee are ferreted out
Carried away in fear and doubt

Sew we grow, and we spread out slow
peering past the edges of the little we know
The wind is the call we fail to hear
Days drift away, and we stay insincere

Look not to the heart of the annual ring
Each in turn buries us; solidifying
our place in the past and future as well
in the ground where we live deep in ourselves

Birds come to tell of places quite far
and then fly off, under alien stars
The tree like an anchor can be a great thing
But a tree never got far since it has no wings