That rise of smoke and mist...round that corner...

Round that corner
Where the road bends
To catch the dreams of builds
Sleeping moist with pillows and bolsters still,
Thereby stands the tree happy
Drenched nightlong
By songs
Of the pouring sky
As if she, the tree,
heard ragas of Her divine
All through
her standing ovation so true...

Round that corner
Where the road bends
To catch the music as sent
To the city by the heavenly breeze cool
There also foggy mist forms happy takes
In eyes sleepy still on flowery journeys made
To realms ethereal as The Most Blessed, The Beautiful...
As if beauty of a smouldering rise slow
There falls eternal,
On that tree standing an ovation
As she delivers, in her motionless motion...

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