I've sipped from the vine honeysuckle wine -
not once has it thought to levy a fee.
Each nectar-filled flower I plucked from the vine
was offered with cordiality.

When in summer's heat I've sought cooling shade,
the giant oak's branches have covered me.
But they would no sooner ask to be paid
than clovers seek pay from the honeybee.

Does the dandelion claim ownership
of its seeds and refuse to set them free?
Or does it release them in fellowship,
creating new carpets of gold for me?

And so when I reach the end of the day,
I pray I'm as grateful as I should be
to all who have helped me along the way
by extending their hospitality.