The stones dance in our ears.
Lobes of sugar canes
on our tongues.

It requires us to dearly drink,
the clear-crisp brooks of the south.
Where spring waters delight.

And the plums are ripe.
And figs satisfy our tounges.

It tastes like home.
It feels like summer,
with no ice and no air-condition.

Where we are from
the sky is our city.

In plains to uncover, home
unlike any…

A light of glory.
A vision to repair.

A path in the lilies and folds.
A strength to strike rock.

And be
home.~your kindness sister