He sits on his throne high above
And his Mighty name is God...

The leaves on her branches
They hang there so loosely...

It's seven chosen colors
With overlapping hands...

It's those cracks that let the light in
Those holes that keep us humble...

I can tell you goodbye
And look you in your eye...

Her petals glisten with morning dew
It's such a fine sight to see...

Her voice is like the wind
So soft and so gentle...

Poets need their space
That white fiber paper...

She's like a spray can
That's ready to explode...

He dwells inside my head
The creator of my dreams...

I can takes a pen and paper,
I can fill it full of words...

A bond among two
That's made for life...