More poetry this evening

We, are the fruit of his lips
He, the root of our tree
The legs to our hips
and everything that stands above

We are the produce of his field
The juice from his grapes
The wine pouring from his bottle
We are the liquid in the glass

He is...
He...
is...

We are...
the rain from his clouds
the rays of his sun
We are the ocean resevoir of his heavenly downpour

We are the cotton of his candy
The lolly of his pop
We are, the chocolate chip
in his cookie dough

He is the oven
We are the bread

We are the oven
He is the bread

Ri...
Rise...
RISE!

You are the raindrops on my window pane
Crashing gently,
Trickling with violence
Ra-tap, ta-tat tat....tappa tip!
Ba-dip ba dip ba dip...
da rop...drop..Drip!