Boy, there in the weeds:
Why do you squat??
I am knotted here,
Fears from thorns engulf me.
Come now boy,
For they are not seen,
Fear can gnarl,
No power is of a thorn!
I have not belief,
They could be here,
For the brush is thick,
So, I cower.
Then, I have little
To offer you,
Not solace, nor relief,
However my hand.
