Stopping By The Whims In Romantic Ruins. Poem by Subrata Ray

Whose Beauty arrests me know I not
Her father a farmer in village deep,
Lives with her daughter and paralitic wife.

A threatening danger to all young guys
Who to take a view often secretly peep.
A linked wink with whispering voice
The damsel and I settled to steal
From fear to be caught and an against will.

The old farmer never harbours
Any of my romantic trespass
But but my infatuated I, ever flys
To keep on the haunting touch.

My conscience finds no guilty
As his daughter wills me to meet
Stopping by her cottage with my steed.

Go I or go not to my work
Never does me prick
Only stopping by Whims at Her thrill
Makes my Gallant, nervously weak.

At my half sleep rises the Whim,
And dreams to ride miles and miles
A stopping near her cottage
Outdoes the the usual feast of Sleep.