The sense
               decensed
gnarled roots twisted lethargic
   grasping at the ground
digging deep for a heart planted
               beating against the darkness
the thrashing rhythm of a thing dying

What seeds can find in this discarded world
     will be made a tall and imposing thing
nurtured by the memory of a time
     when the need for them
was but the sound of wind blowing through playful leaves
               falling.