digging stick in hand, I seek you, and
roots and leaves give your hiding place away -
though thousands could be you.
there are only two of your kind, one
fibrous and more work to chew than not -
diet food for those who don't need it.
still couse, you comfort food, you lure me to
turn over the rocks like any bear - to dig
among the biscuit scablands one more time.
