Green and refined,
Ancient and divine,
Only the devoted are blessed with the fortuity
To paint with your colors,
To master your intricate rituals,
To consume your ichor,
To worship each and every form you take.
Those who have never known you
Or refuse to bask in your light
Will call this idolatry or heresy,
That your right to be worshipped does not compare,
But they'll never know the privilege
Of feeling your warmth in their ephemeral bodies,
And tasting your sanctity,
So they can speak your tongue and cry their fervent praise.
