The sloping yellow pathway waits for eager travelers,
And on its shoulders rests life aplenty.
Wooden ropes cling to eternal columns,
Longing to join the elders in their quest for open air.
Off the path stands a grandfatherly figure,
Waiting patiently for bewildered visitors to question its audacity.
Split open by forces beyond its grasp,
It houses a divinity that few reciprocate.
Fellow giants of early years sleep unhinged in grounds that nurture younger copies.
Tiny descendants struggle forth from fertile earth,
And witness with hidden eyes the glory of their triumphant predecessor.
With grace, it dismisses the persuasive bobbing of uniform instigators,
And remains resolute despite its freely swaying brothers.
In solitude, its arms have lengthened in an attempt to embrace the heavens,
While others still grope about in the canopy’s shadows.