Lullaby
She sings a
lullaby for the newborn,
Her own sweetest
compositions in the Morn,
foraying into the
world’s path of thorn,
Rocking the cradle ever and anon.
She sings
a lullaby in the noon,
Wiping the
sweat of Summer’s
croon,
The child is laid to sleep
with the fan’s boon,
She comes back to her place for
a siesta of noon.
This was some
thirty years ago,
The same moon shines
in the brisk of eventide,
Yet, no lullaby,
no cradle and
no soothing words,
For now foster
mothers and crèches
multiply.
No comments:
Post a Comment