To brew the collection of forces Required to grow a mountain Out of a molehill with only one mole The dirt that you gather comes from Outside the mind Peaky craggy outcomes unearth themselves As an ingredient in a cocktail of Nature's garden herbs Under the auto-tutelage Of a determined soul Unsure about the applied gravity Reading into and out of: Put downs laid out By more groupish folk Who see by a standard And blot out the smoke But these fires burn Without pejorative sun Handed good turns By one and just one