Meadows green and the rivers fair,
Meandering through the vale without any care.
The silver trees and the golden leaves,
Sparkling webs doth the sun weaves.
Birds singing ere the crack of dawn,
Singing to the sun, the morning’s song.
The voices of trees doth the light welcome,
Naught hath been said till the rays doth come.
The night’s dew clinging to the grass.
Little drops of stars to see, for those who pass.
The boughs laden with fruits of love,
Exotic colours, myriad, are in to them wove.
The happy day dawning and handing out a smile,
Stand under the skies here; ponder awhile.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment