Stands there a tree
With a age of hundred and three
The trunk had twists on it
Which little Sam liked a little bit
The old man branched out cardinally
With all its branch radiating unfashionately
The leaves were in a curly manner
Don’t know it was shape or genre
Every root that oldie had
Was covered with moss and pad
Consider it, its luck or fate
He had nothing to celebrate
Every being that roamed around it
Never thanked or obliged of it
He lived selflessly hi life
May be he will be rewarded in next
life.
- Manik Sharma
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