Song
black
Love and harmony handle
entwine our souls
When your and my branches meet,
Our roots must intersect.
Joy sits on our branches,
Compose songs chirpingly and sweetly,
Like the streams meeting at our feet,
Purity merges with virtue.
You bear golden fruits,
I am covered in flowers;
Your branches and leaves perfume the air,
Turtles make their homes down there.
She sat there raising her children,
I listened to her song of resentment;
"Love" is on your branches and leaves,
I heard his words too.
He has a beautiful nest there,
He slept there all night,
During the day he laughs
Play in our branches.