That piece of wood
That sits here in this room.
That object
Has more history than we could ever imagine.
What started as a tree and ended in a barn
Now sits here in this room.

It was once full of life
Vivid in brown and green.
It swayed in the wind
And beckoned to the sky.
It grew, and it moved like every being known to man.
Nonetheless, it sits here in this room.

It was forced down at the hand of man
And cut into the shape it now possesses.
It was moved to a place it had never witnessed
And now it sits here in this room.

It was raised up off the ground
And forced together with a total stranger.
Life would be spent in this odd location
Yet it sits here in this room.