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The Cottage

Virag Padalkar

The birds trill a song, of melodious notes
which shove sleep along, till consciousness floats
towards sun-warmed trees and golden baked leaves
rustling in the breeze, magic morning weaves.

I move to the window, and gaze upon heaven
through clouds that lie so low, like white cotton spun,
using the perfect loom, of nature's vast beauty;
to flowers in full bloom, morning dew stands duty.

I walk to the garden, breathing in scented air
and gazing at the sun, that warms earth with such flair.
Driving the chill away, to fill me with hopes
of an excellent day, amongst grass laden slopes.

I walk through the clouds, that wrap the mountainside
Like rich woven shrouds, into which my aches glide
and dissolve like mist, upon the sun's advance
to leave me to exist, at peace with games of chance.

Each fern has charm, each blade of grass a glaze
With beauty does disarm; a sceptic's rough gaze.
And leaves a simple smile, making me tarry
On a rustic stile, staring at the valley.

As evensong begins, with its sweet melody
to pluck at my heartstrings and make me bow to thee.
By the fireplace I sit, shadows across my face
A cozy glow does flit, leaving a peaceful trace.

I wake to your soft gaze, upon my idle smile
and watch my eyes so dazed, from dreaming all this while.
To this haven; my goal - my heart does agree.
I ask thee; my soul - wilst thou come with me?


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