This globe beneath me
within hand's reach
turns and turns and turns

What am I?

I am the language
between the trees and waves
painting the globe with gentle strokes
from a brush made of stars

What am I?

I am the painter of the fields
and the sunrise of a sleepy morning
I fill this globe of mine
with the colors of my soul.

What am I?

I am the heartbeat of this world
beating and resonating
waiting for the globe to dance