Three happy lilypads reside
Upon a low-speed stream.
They congregate, then dance along
With golden, twinkling beams.
To any passerby, this sight
Is no less than a dream.
The river takes them for a ride
To meet some bumblebees,
A row of cattails, and a throng
Of rustling Shisham trees.
They spend the moments with delight
As daytime slowly flees.
And when the sun prepares to hide
Behind the drape of black,
A breeze, while whispering its song,
Pushes this floating pack
To its old spot.
They wait the night
Until the sun is back.