God's own fife

 

- by Pratyush Parashar Das 

The evening gives way to night, signaling the end of a day as quietly as an owl in flight,

The dying embers of the sun shine on weary shoulders, that carry loads as heavy as a mountain's boulders,

As the birds sing, and return home to roost, the spirits of the populace began to soar, and their happiness receives a boost,

The tumult and cacophony of the metropolis dies down, giving rise to a peaceful silence,

That is as pleasant as a Nightingale's sweet song, sending vibration of peace, harmony that are as munificent as the impact is immense,

And so does our beautiful planet continue to spin on its axis, and spawn all life,

Pleasant is this experience, spent in God's own fife