Some more, some less

The Hermit has declared a vow of silence
Every time there is a storm
And leaves fall from the tree
Along with some dry branches
There will a campfire
To roast the tubers
Dugout from under the trees
That have not bloomed for years
The birds are waiting
For fire to be ignited
And hermit to get busy
With his meditation
Thy know hat he will forget
To turn the tubers
Some will be cooked more and some less
These will be then left for birds to eat
And he will laugh and talk to himself
Telling himself how consistent he is in forgetting
things
Some more, some less