Life of a hamlet

The hamlet had its own charms
Small cottages...haystacks...barns...
And little roads and lanes and streets...
Tiny children at a small park would in the afternoon meet...
And their cries...laughter would echo back...
A mountain range, overlooking guardian, in lighter black...
And through the hutment a rivulet ran...
A small bridge over her made of rough wooden planks...
Everytime would anyone pass by it...
It would breathe a long drawn screech...
And there were trees -old pines tall...
Their shadows on the streets would in daytime fall...
And walking through that shadowy turn...
Women of the village from woods would return...
Bundles of firewood balanced on their heads...
They would walk silent tired like dead...
But in the evening...when the men would in inebriated state...
By the bonfire sing songs of autumn late...
The otherwise placid life of the hamlet
Would rise above the deathly silence...
The songs would reach high and above
To mix with the night air dense like newly found love...
And the distant guardian of the mountain...
Would also go to sleep without pain...
Knowing life in this small tiny village...
Would bloom like beauty ,age after age...
The night would gradually descend
With lullabies sung by mountain maids...
And the sleepy village under the stars and the moon silver
Would have a dream again of day another...
Thus with time life would also flow...
At the village by the rivulet murmuring so...