Rising fishes in the pond
Everyday I feed,
I have the food to keep them near,
So I give them all they need.

They come whenever I walk by,
Like children, clinging tight.
They sleep with eyes, still open wide
And pass away the night.

In a million years, when man has died,
What will they think of me?
When from the waters, they do crawl,
What will their short lives be?

What will their memories be of me?
The giver from the sky,
Will I be their god, from up above,
Within their own minds-eye?

Do we have memories from our past?
And see in our minds-eye.
A time we looked from waters clear
And saw our feeder in the sky.