There are folks with a twig and a question to ask,
and they wander the fields with a curious task.
“Is it real?” they all wonder, as rods dip and sway.
“Is it real?” they repeat in that dowsing‑ish way.

Some say “Of course!” with a grin ear to ear,
“For the twig gives a wiggle when water is near!”
But the twig only wiggles because you give a twitch,
and your hands do the dance in a manner quite rich.

Some say “No way!” with a skeptical snort,
“For the studies all show it’s a luck‑driven sport.”
And they’re right, in a sense, for the data is clear:
no mysterious forces are tugging it here.

But oh! There are others who answer “Well… maybe.”
For the world is a riddle, a little bit wavy.
And the rod is a wand in a land‑listening rite,
and the Hazel branch hums with a threshold‑tree light.

Is it real in the folklore?
Oh yes, through the ages—
in the miners’ old tunnels,
in the friars’ book pages.

Is it real in the body?
Quite real, if you please—
for the nerves make a murmur
that travels with ease.

Is it real in the symbol?
As real as a bell—
for the land has a language
and humans can tell.

Is it real in the science?
Not really, not quite—
but the why of the wiggle
is still a delight.

Is it real in the myth?
Oh, the myth is alive—
where the Hazel branch whispers
and old stories thrive.

So what’s real? What’s pretend?
What’s a trick? What’s a sign?
Well, the answer depends
on the question’s design.

For the rod is a mirror,
and the mirror is you,
and the land is a partner
in all that you do.

And the truth, like the twig,
has a bend and a sway—
and it wiggles a little
when you ask it the way.