Their strength wanes when pedestals tall. Valued possessions draw thieving eyes,
Yet balance grants what truly lies.
Each in its place, each with its worth,
In humble soil, roots find their birth.
Tools in the hand, part of the throng, Guiding the self, where we belong.
To yield, to make space for the new, Embrace what’s vital, bid the old adieu.
For in the void, where letting go bleeds,
Lies room for what the heart truly needs.