A thousand colored folds stretch toward the sky. Atop a tender strand, rising from the land, until killed by maiden's hand. Perhaps a token of love, perhaps to say goodbye.
To cross the water I'm the way, for water I'm above. I touch it not and, truth to say, I neither swim nor move.
What has three ways out and just one way in?
The sun bakes them, the hand breaks them, the foot treads on them, and the mouth tastes them.
I move without wings, Between silken string, I leave as you find, My substance behind.
I roam through the lands hoping to rescue my love. I search high and low and will stomp on you if you get in my way!