Fresh Morning
When the dazzling dew kisses the grass blades,
When the reddish sky turns to be golden,
When all the nestlings and birds stars to chirp
When all the dreams ,wait to be true,who are nighty weaven.
The pleasant breeze are blowing through the meadow
Moving it’s tender touch
The mother earth is awaking slow
And a new day is waiting to be hatched.
All the nightmares are deleted
All the hopes are in a pile
All the nature and the sky
Start to laugh meanwhile.
That can be a fresh morning
When the crops are to be ploughed
That is the the perfect time to start a new,
And “Let’s start”, to be shouted loud.
©®Shampa Saha
India
