Words can create magic and I want to get lost in them for some part of each day.

December 27, 2010

Sometimes the Sun Shines Through.

The Dawn is a feeble old woman
Shuffling creakily.
The razor sharp winds rule.
Fog is her heavy mantle.
Grey  is the colour - the mood.
Suddenly an uproar of parrots
-A golden shimmer of a Hawk.
And a  blue jay a-glinting
On a gnarled and faded tree.
 A lone pansy nods its little head bravely.
All declare- the Dawn is lazy and slow too :
But the Sun will definitely Shine through.


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