A farmer sows the seeds of time
and chooses which ones grow,

He waters them with magic,
and protects them from the winds that blow.

But the farmer is a foolish man for he cannot predict what will become,
He can not foresee which seeds will falter which for sure will be some.

Some seeds grow to be trees with branches, as mighty as the sky,
But some trees are not worth planting, because they wither and die.

Even if the trees do grow the woodsman will take the axe of fate,
and chop down the seeds, that the squirrels never ate.

Or the wind swept away, or killed by the soil that did not suffice,
because in the end most seeds die, except maybe one in every thrice.

The third seed is lucky, because it buries itself in the ground,
thus makes itself permanent and impossible to be found.

But the farmer tries to look, he tries to remove the soil,
however the job is too much work and not worthy of his toil.

And then the farmer brakes his back because he tried to see,
he tried to look into the seeds of time and view the future that will be.