Month: August 2010

It was a  fantastic clipping,

Which led me to a  flipping

 As the  writing was exquisitely elegant,

 Making the presentation   illuminatively  brilliant,

 Forcing  me  to  read it again.

 Then I detected a  strain,

That  seemed so familiar

Whose  writing appeared very similar,

To that of mine,

It was an inherent line,

That spoke of many inbuilt intricacies,

Who is the author?

I ponder.,

What an amazing technique?

I  critique.

The flow of language is full-throated,

The selection of words is highly quoted,

The ease of penning is enjoyably rooted,

The  substantial input is meticulously  ornated

The author is none other than,

My little man,

Whose passion was reading

Whose profession is writing,

I recollect  his  childhood  days

When  he indulged in plays

 But mostly  used to sleep

With books   interred deep,

 Focusing his eyes on the page,

Posing like a sage,

Devouring the   language and meaning

With facilitated screening,

Forgetful of drink  and food,

Unaware of the affairs of the brood,

I take an about turn

 By making a track back to  23 / August

The day of  his biological    entry,

I  felt  I  nurtured a different carry,

Not  too heavy literally,

But  held  a weight  literary ,

I proudly delivered ,

A Majesty   beautifully  liveried.

 Now, I armoured in spontaneity,

Hover over eternity,

To unfold  an abundance ,

Of wisdom and wealth in redundance,

As water pledges to hold us apart,

Creating a tough  depart,

My  blessings  slide over in the air,

To greet you on your  lovely fair