Here might a man, childlike, unbind his boots, Go with bared feet, and sometimes, pausing, stand To feel with the foot’s depth the years of mold Through which the buried roots, the living roots Climb down to levels more profoundly old— Eons of rock, centuries of sand. Here might the foot feel and the slowed mind feel What the root feels in its deep wanderings.
Robert Francis - Roots
Here might a man, childlike, unbind his boots, Go with bared feet, and sometimes, pausing, stand To feel with the foot’s depth the years of mold Through which the buried roots, the living roots Climb down to levels more profoundly old— Eons of rock, centuries of sand. Here might the foot feel and the slowed mind feel What the root feels in its deep wanderings.