The Quest

Bumble, trundle, humping along,
Stopping to eat when hunger rises,
Subconsciously seeking that special haven,
A place to settle and prepare,
Searching, halting, munching,
Life revolving, never changing,
Bumbling, trundling, humping along.

‘Till under an oak, haven is found,
An end to bumbling, cessation of trundling,
Final gorging, satiating greater hunger.
Then out with the ropes,
Self binding, twisting, contorting,
Escapologist contrary,
Binding tighter and tighter, enshrouding the whole,
A haven within the haven without.

Time passes and changes are wrought,
Oak liberates its young, and soon after, its clothes,
Time passes, as time must.
Its unchanging march towards eternity’s end,
Delicate white water drifts from skies above,
To settle, then thaw, as Chronos steps forth,
‘Till a fresh suit is delivered to clothe oak once more.

Ropes fray, bindings loosen,
A brief struggle and freedom’s regained,
Resting, recuperating, under strong oak,
Never to trundle and bumble again,
But to flitter and flutter, resplendently nimble,
A new quest in mind,
To seek out a mate, cycle recycled.