As continuous as the turnover
Of blood that drift into our veins, as
Red as the apple’s skin forever,
What we do is inscribed and permanent.
We curve a smile,
As our gift gravitate,
From the gates above,
We celebrate the unending fall
Of waters we call as it rains,
So much joy we have made,
The sky filled the oceans again.
Life passes, as the clouds flop shapes,
Of milks and creams, the sweetest
Honey would never become bitter,
The age we old, will never change.