The root of a tree supports the skyward branches,
But knows not the wind or how sunshine answers.
It refuses to budge and creeps without contrition,
And assumes its survival is the proof of nutrition.
The crooked network’s entwined beyond reason,
And that’s the way it’ll stay, regardless of season.
Cut down its tree, you still won’t hear it plead,
All that’s left is death or rebirth through a seed.
~Poet of Ephraim