A conversation with the earth mother,

I feel my lower left root is somewhat slim,

She tells me not to make such a pother,

To listen to her hymn,

She speaks to me in rhythm,

Which echoes poetically,

The path of this algorithm,

The voices of lost generations,

But I think she may be calling me hollow,

She reminds me constantly,

That I am losing my leaves too early in the fall,

But I don't know what's going on,

I'm all bark and no bite says the flowers,

Without my roots,

I'm down to their level,

Back to a shallow fellow,

Bent out of shape,

When the the wind blows hard,

The roses are always cheerful,

Their synthesis truly inspiring,

They turn their backs to see the brighter side of life,

But problems still stem,

Yes I guess you are right,

I say to the earth mother,

I should rise above roots laid low,

But you know me,

I am who I am,

So I'll always be a little knotty,