The cold morning wind upon my face,
Ran its fingers with a heavenly grace.
They caressed my cheeks with a graceful touch,
As I walked up the shaft of the broken dutch.
My eyes upon the sky did feast,
The sight of those little sparkling beasts.
In that melancholy mood, did my mind wander,
To the thoughts of the gal I had seen yonder.
She was smiling under the tree thither,
The leaves of which had begun to wither.
Her smile was one that I could never forget,
For it was still there when that fork struck.
Scorching even the bare earth, there she stood,
Nature's wrath and fury on her did descend.
The smiling face now was a torched wood,
Onto the Master's hand she did ascend.
For her very essence was boiled and charred,
under that star lit ,beautiful night sky.
The silver dragon, of which sang not many a bard,
came down on her, oh none to heed the lass's cry!!
That thought wrought a wretched feeling,
On the shaft where I was kneeling.
Offering my prayers to the almighty,
To bless those souls who had my sympathy.
Anand.S
