Make a vine into a basket
Weave it through the hands of craftsmanship
There is nothing that plays between imagination
That runs dry into the depths of reality
Intricate patterns intersect at numerous junctions

Shadow on the walls
The source of its light is somewhere else
Dark of night, only tells of the morn's light
A sweet rose wafts its breath
And give the bees a joyous feast

Flower into glory, I see your beauty
As hidden as it may seem
The song of your heart is meant to be sung
So go and sing
And let the birds hear your cry
They'll leave the heavens
And embrace your soul