Tossing in the bed she lies.
Wrinkling her brows she cries.
Twisting her nose she tries.
Biting her lips she controls.
Up she gets out of her bed.
Over her eyes look red.
Above she knocks her forehead.
High she stumbles ahead.
In she walks along the aisle.
Into she stutters over the trail.
Inside she breaks like a frail.
Inward she flutters as a gale.
Out she rushes out of the gate.
Outside she maintains her gait.
She attains the status of a feature.
She achieves a celebrity in structure
She embarks as a classical figure.
Oh! she is nothing more than a poor creature
Meenas Poems 