Answer:
A slow, solemn square-dance of warriors feinting. One by one they fall, warriors fainting, thirty-two on sixty-four.
Grows from the ground, bushes and grass, leaves of yellow, red and brow, unruly plants, get the axe, trim the hedge back down.
Dies half its life. Lives the rest. Dances without music. Breathes without breath.
It is a part of us, and then replaced. It escapes out bodies, to a better place. The world becomes its sizeable home. Its passions unrestraint, the planet it roams.
I scribble forms of the finest letter, And repel elements of the harshest weather. I am an arrow-aimer and a dust-breaker.
What did the piece of wood say when he saw the screwdriver and screws approaching?