Saturday, June 6, 2009


My child is fond of butterflies
And dances with those little flies;
Whitty, Spotty, tiny flies
And little pretty butterflies;

I too love them seriously
My eyes will fetch them robustly;
To coax and make her eat slightly
With the tales of flies, brightly;

She is fond of my stories
Although they were false stories;
She too dream to fly like them
And play and dance in sky like them;

But I am fond of those flowers;!
Folks which are betrayed by them;
Lived with hearts which killed by them
Or bravely committed death by self;

Don’t u see those lovely flowers?
White and red and blue in colours;
Dancing with the butterflies
As if they had reached their spirit

Look the pride in her sweet face
While she dances in his pace;
She is thrilled in wooing buzz
And stolen gifts of pollen grains;
But, I am sure, she will be deceived;

He is very keen at plans;
To make her part of his own clan
Aiming at her charming juice
To taste it with his pretty stem

Once he had a secure time
After coaxing her at times
To have a taste of her sweet juice
Even if, a bit for the time

She was made is such a time;
To feel pity of his own time
And plainly gave a little time;
To have a zip of sweety time;

Poor bloom!
She is dreaming flying with
Her own flitting fly in sky!!

Look, He looked as if a wicked
To ooze her sweet, all at once
And thank her with his piercing eyes!
And went of with a charming smile!!

Poor bloom!
She is in the anxious mood
Will he come back again?
And take her to his dear clan
And make her fly in sky like him

Oh ! Dear blooms…
Beware of those tiny wicked flies!
Who in search of juicy sweet;
Don’t get trapped in their sweet buzz
Don’t be trapped in their sweet colors;

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