I had a dole, and couldn't go to Heaven
For I should have tried the rosy-bud often
She told her wrath, and I did not say anything
So, when felt queer about the bud I had felt a sting
Upon my bloody finger, which I could show
Although she might have answered me 'No'
Again I tried a second to make her mine
She, hence, told 'Okay, first I must opine'
'Is the rosy-bud there still? ', she told
I said, 'No, I have a pain, I couldnot hold'
So, in a prestigious manner she denied the bud
As if, more stingingly than it she did strike me to cud.
COPYRIGHT@ RESERVED BY PIJUSH BISWAS
Topic(s) of this poem: fun
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.