Lay bamboo leaves on the table.
Fold the leaf into a boat,
delicate threads weave effortlessly,
a craft honed over many years.
Glutinous rice, pure as snow,
the filling rich with heartfelt flavor.
Together, hands shape zongzi into mountains,
and unity banishes all loneliness.
Steam rises in swirling tendrils,
the aroma of zongzi fills the air.
Through the quiet courtyard,
early summer stirs awake.
The steam carries more than rice—
it bears the timeless bond of tradition.
Bamboo leaves return to the earth,
their fragrance lingers on the dawn breeze.
