Manu Kranth Chary
He Is Old...
He get's up like a ceaser slowly,
Looking through his fragile glasses,
Half broken and at the master's support they are.
Dim and dusty they became with ages.
Ready for the daily walk he goes in the grasses,
With his friends all around - the breezes,
With his companions all around - the trees and plants,
With his guardians the sun and stars.
Bringing back the very smooth,