Saturday, April 11, 2009

Soft Spoken

The rhythmic coppersmith barbet,
And crawlers in the leafy carpet.
The bending branches creak,
As wind sweeps the dense teak.
The faraway calls of deer,
Glistening the pebbles flows water, clear.

Like the forest, my dear muse,
I clear my thoughts to listen to you.

(c) HP.

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