The trees invite, the river’s charm,
"Come little boy, here there’s no harm.”
The boy comes, marvels and remains
And now he’s healed of all his pains.

From bush, the sound of fluting quail,
Day’s bright colours the eyes assail,
On flowers red, on flowers blue
The gleam of heaven’s sparkling dew.

On Fresh, green grass he takes his rest,
The clouds on high sail at their best.
Mother and child close contact keep;
The god of dreams lulled him to sleep.