Little Dreams of Her
Just wiping off her feet from dust sagging down;
From paths lone, she knew not would take !
Sitting still, millions of bill slate –
Worried not, wrought not, she barely breathes.
Watching her life story shushing slowly past.
Beware the still gentle mind,
Whilst tomorrow may it explode.
Tread as light as a feather,
Howsoever she arrives an impasse.
Let her rise up on a new dawn
For a pristine path, however !!!
For the nonce, be still,
Let the waters glide past
And dight the soles up.
Lest her worries
weigh her steps down !!!