The Child likes toys
loves to play with joy
he is a boy.
The child loves rose
likes to hold it close
a girl by choice.
Category: rose
The imagination goes beyond
rises from the ground
up it flies into the sky
a jolly good fly
it travels and speeds
hovering over all leads
colourful it strikes
beautiful I like
the “scene” is a what I mean
encompasses all the green
it incites and provokes
it ignites and invokes
the portrait is so grand
the sketch depicts a band
above each and every slide
the scenes move in a glide
the rose and the pansies
dance along with the daisies
the trees huge and large
magnify and enlarge
the child so cute and gay
keeps you at bay
the imperious mountains rise and fall
they enact a peculiar call
could be an invite into their arms
a peep into their charm
enters there the most mundane
the traffic not so sane
the vehicles ply up and down
a frenzy that keeps us all brown
a distraction it is all through
ties all of us in a fasten most true
that be the scene true in spirit
the rejoice of the senses in a b
it
the “scene ” has been brought to effect
feel I have illustrated them in words most perfect.
a sense
A child is a pleasure
she is a treasure
a gift truly precious
has a smile infectious.
The smell of the newborn
when held tightly with a fawn
goes into the nostrils with a sign
it could be an enchanting bind.
The little eyes so pure and glossy
away from the worldly flossy
show an innocence in a radiance
beautifully lights up in no preference.
The bundle of joy nicely wrapped
lies between the straps
cuddled up in a feathery quilt
smiles now and then without guilt.
Nothing else could be more pleasant
the child out beats the rose and Crescent
a doll with life and enticing face
displays a toothless smile with grace
Meenas Poems 