A plant knows exactly where the sun will shine
As it stretches its arms up in the air.
Its toes dig through the soil, its private water mine.
The plant takes comfort, its permanently there.

The joy of knowing where it belongs
Could be broken if it were replanted.
At least it could take its roots along,
Then relearn what it took for granted.

It could never go back to visit its old place,
Never see another plant in its pot
Or remember how its roots filled that space
Or see how empty things are without it in its spot.