blowing of the winds
swinging of the trees
flowing of the streams
glowing of the sun
playing gods bringing
smile on the face of the
infant is become
the thing of the past
cries the infant
looking at the infantry
up and down the valley
is a routine rally
blossoming of the flowers
pouring of the showers
has a message
oh dear gardener
a storm is the air
please take care
do not let us part
from you into the hands
of the cruel
and the merciless
he who knows less
he who is being used
from the cruel force
stop him from the worse
and save him from the curse
save the heaven
save the heaven
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