your mysterious chemistry, old oak

The transmutation of the air
enveloping your skin and hair,
encircling your stoic stance,
allured by your perceptive pair,

and transmutation of the dew,
that greets the dawn a deeper hue,
that meets each day alive, the chance
that it’s ascent will be as true,

and transmutation of the rain
a-pouring down upon the brain,
in showering the souls it grants
a-flowering some fruitful gain,

and transmutation of the light,
its open windows gifting sight,

its doors through which you might enhance
your days with rays a-blaze in-flight,

​and transmutation of the earth
beneath your feet, beneath your girth,
becoming whence you came to dance
believing thence with death, re-birth,

as this, your soul it also feeds,
it fuels and fears and fends and bleeds,
as interwoven branches leaves,
like these, the fibers of your deeds,

and colors thrust and cans and cant’s,
like this, it needs perfumes of plants,
and thus it grows and thus it seeds
and thus it flows through your substance.

inspired by Ch. V, Morals & Dogma by Albert Pike