New is old and old is true.

A green thing

Most uncontrollably in solitude

makes my soul wander from thoughts:

our bequeathed and daily toil,

to a sort of virgin wonderment at its

and our very sight.

How can I, a boy, a man, yes,

reconcile my desire for heroness,

not obligation.

I want to stretch myself over everything

Natural and Good,

and live a life.

The trees, now they, I know,

are my true fathers.

I hear them whisper; I am home.

— ian leach