borne of the mother tongue
these wordlings sing her praises,
from her lips they fall shrieking
What joy!
Stone, feather, purple and flower!
          I am a word that came so,

                                                        meld it all, your colors and mine and his
                                                                 multiplicity is how she speaks
                                                         her forked tongue, tastes,  tastes, strike
                                                               what ecstasy!