I have a son
who is always fun
climbs he on the trees
calls from there cheese
jumps down with a thud
tramps on the plants with buds
runs up to the road fast
turns back without a cast
plays on the heap of sand
rolls down with a noisy land
it is curious to see him play
Oh, I have forgotten all the more
the son of mine is young no longer
he is a responsible father now
his son would play the same way as of now.
Meenas Poems 