Hugely growing broken glass
finds our easy rock-bound group,
binds our limbs and lets them pass,
passing round our lessen plan,
causing other thoughts of death,
cleansing easy with a stoop.
There is a tree which claims to be
our sole and rightful stemma.
Hug its curves!
Console its roots!
For without its knowledge
we cannot solve
our insoluble dilemma.