A seed, a tree, a tome
Days of yore, culminating in irreplaceable knowledge etched on pulverized lumber
Generation after generation, edified, enriched
What, if not where is this germ affixed?
Barren or enriched, these grounds bear fruit.
What of the hide, borne through time, faded
Tree pulp, etched with accounts, binds these truths,
The degree at which they nourish,
This is not known but true to measure
Sagacious, rings expanding
Writ by relics, understood by few but elucidated by many
That is the genesis, risen from papyrus
A war of the ages rages on but not the epoch,
The victories of mindful battles remain
Though burnt, bruised and chiseled
A gem it bears.
Erudition, though through a piece of paper, a pen, a book
Will forever live on
Absolving the past from the future,
Forever the ovum that bore the fruit of what is known,
True to blooming daisies,
and obnoxious weeds to boot.
A pip, a field, an oak,
OH, what difference it makes,
That dewdrop on this,
Though barren from yonder,
sprouts a thousand of these.