A man unmagnified by conscious thought
is like a starship fueled on husk and hull.
A self sustained on surfaces has bought
a garden bright with fruit he'll never cull,
for gardens are not bought, they must be grown,
by men with will to study and to toil.
They know the bloom and blossom of what's grown
depends upon the sweetness of the soil.
Its richness by a man's own hand is wrought
through his full willingness to understand,
infinity exists beyond all thought,
and lies between the landscape and the land.
The noonday sun knows not the crescent moon
and men desert their dreaming all too soon.