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The next two poems for the month.
Trees grow up (how?)
from tiny seeds
watered by time
and shaped by circumstance
Shaped by the movement of the Dao
following instinctual needs
heedless of time
except as measured by Earth and Sun's dance
Roots grow down (wherein?)
into rich Pluto's realm
seeking nourishment
and making nexus with the past
Growing from the gone-before (meaning hides therein)
though history's weight at times may overwhelm
dispensing nourishment
and binding last to first and first to last.
If I knew long ago
What I know now --
All what lies within my ken --
I have to think (pure ego?)
Somewhen, someway, somehow
The Fates who drive the lives of men
And the curriculum vitae all must follow
Would guide me to give them a grateful bow
That I know now what I didn't know then.