Aeschlepus is not bread,

It is not water

It is the yearning to go farther

It is not rock or stream

Nor timber

It is not a life that dares only

Linger

It is not quiet

It is not void

It is not life,

But instead life's noise.

It is not the wantings of the heart,

But instead the heart travelled,

Be it blessed or marred

It runs, it dances

It carries weight

It findeth love, and it findeth hate

Aeschlepus is not the field that stands,

It is the field moving in the breeze

Aeschlepus is not a man,

It is a man who knows he's free.