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User Rating:
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5.6
/10
(11 votes)
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Mother, the moon I want as my toy.
I will roll on the floor,
Not come to your lap,
Nor have my hair-braid combed.
No longer will I be your child
I will only be Nand baba's boy.
Listen son, come to me
There's a secret from bal we can hide.
Hiding her smile, Yasoda said,
I'll give you a brand new bride.
Quick then, Mother, I swear by you
A wedding is what I'd like.
Sant Surdas
| Submitted Date |
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Thursday, January 01, 2004 |
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Read poems about / on: wedding, mother, son, child, hair, moon, smile, children
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