Pools of honey fill in the endless pond,
milk drips from leaves and trees
flowers bloom from branches so crisp.
Oh, how the doves so effortlessly fly.
Swoop, swoop! Their wings flap against the
wind that carries the honey down the stream,
the milk that stirs it whole.
Up she goes, hanging from the tallest tree
“High I am!” “High is she!”
And pointing to the flowers above her,
“We are the same”