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The tools of which we used to create are drawn from the ground we tread. We too shall return one day, we too shall become grass.

When my bones are all that remain, I pray I do not become a tree whose wood is used to make an axe. One can never be sure of the consequences of their own passing.

None of us are fungible: 'able to replace or be replaced by another identical item' Nor is any blade of grass, any pebble, or any puff of smoke

We must be conscious of our construction, and what is poised to be lost in the pursuit of gain.

One day we too shall return, one day we too shall become grass.

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