The faint smell of summer grass with
the compassionate cold morning zypher.
Pearly dew drops of early dandelion dawn
were spotted heather and theatre,
Silent breeze in the meadows whisper
forgotten tales of the bygone nights,
Even the petrichor with the ravishing
rainbow splendorously mesmerizing.
The beauty of the wonderous woods was
started shimmering bit by bit in the crescent
cascading blessing beams of the
awaited alluring aylin in the gloomy night.
The melancholy of the nightfall all in
mournful menacing but few stars peeking
through the clouds made it balanced
as the sweet stardust started sprouting.
In the old red maple grove seldom
tweets of the migrated swain skylarks
were pretty much near soulfully nostalgic
and too much euphonious to the ear.
The dusk was surprisingly sweet to them,
along with the twilight like welcoming them
with the warmest embrace to make
them feel the vibes of their own hamlet.
