If you’ll indulge Just a fun, silly one What tastes better than it smells?

A playful chase, quick and fleet, Marked by touch, a game complete. Bound to friends in joyful glee, I’m the seeker, come find me.

In salad church we bow our heads. ‘Word’ pray: before prayers said.

For years now, I have championed a simple idea. The very tips of a pair of scissors should have a name:

I reach to skies yet walk not on the ground, In forest halls my silent voice is found. I bear the foliage weight in gentle dance, And cradle nests where feathered minstrels prance. Though part of one, I stretch away in mirth, A hand of wood that grows from rooted birth.