Ever since the first grass blades gathered
beneath the feet of wandering birch trees
those little leafs have made us leap and flee;
our hips an Eocene launch toward hazards,
exchanging the canopy for staggered
bunny steps and slow arise to knees,
back and the capture of huge feast with ease;
no longer were we tied to the scaffolds
or made to feather through the leafy boughs;
we instead learned to agree and to fight
over pieces of the grass covered ground
as the first beast to ever set its sight
on the cleaving of light where there should be none
and the reason to see through the brightest of sun.
