It’s coming home there
Like a garden
Perched atop a fiery mountain
That’s lit beneath the snow.
It’s laying deep there
Like a serpent
Dwelling round a silvery tree
That’s lit beneath the moon.
As a bird I wait in groves
To cool beside the rivering edge
And swallow dreams with songs of joys
My feet play from the windness ledge.
Everywhere eyes follow me
They hide amongst the cherry trees
They pretend to look away
But subtle laughter comes my way.
Tender is the breeze that sticks to my tongue
Sleepy are the days where my feathers are hung
“Master! Master! What should I do?”
And the serpent replied “Be the Master, too.”