Primordial as the ocean tide,
Seasonal as the butterfly,
All living things must chart through time,
Their paths to food and peace of mind.
Across the skies, waters and lands,
We move but by this one command,
That nothing stays in time or place,
Cyclical motions map God's grace.
So who are mortals to deny,
These habits which are old as time?
Brief lines and walls may pacify,
But vines, creatures, and people,