The Tumultuous Tracks of Nature

As my legs grow into trunks and my arms into branches, the leaves of my leavings fall and sprout seeds among the grasses. Spreading my roots through the mud, bringing myself a sort of immortality, though fickle it may be, comes about like destiny in its thunderous Ill-natured glee. Helpless be i to stop or divert the urge in which the need grips hopeless in my earth. Acquainted with tunnels and scar well enough to know how marred and barbed are the vines which strangle and tangle about me. Pleading cries lie flat upon descent to the unhearing ear. And now true motives are clear and what I fear has come stomping. And stomping. And stomping. Oh yes, they come stomping.