Singing a song with you,
When it's time in the morn for dews
To shine bright, as scattered pearls,
From soaked fronds and majestic curls
Of leaves staring blank at the silent clouds;
Hovering over green landscape as shroud
Of porous cotton painted in gray and silver,
As lake below in its dumb serenity is a mirror,
To the primeval acts lives are engaged in,
With faces often twisted in mirth or in chagrin;
Singing a song with you,
When the sky in its immensity glows blue,
Snow capped hills reflect crimson hue,
And agile wings draw lines in black
Till fields of corns they turn slake,
Diamond beads of eyes push and preen,
Wet mud for writhing worms in green,
Grasses standing numb and stiff,
Watching cascading mist from high cliff;
Singing a song with you,
Holding hand in hand and walk down
Towards fields where love is being sown.
Copy right@ Tiku 2014
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