A fairy comes to her grandfather old,
Turns silver of hairs in glittering gold,
Combs with fingers, a reliever of pain,
And when her magic enters the brain,
A portion of relief's stolen by the heart,
Its beats whisper, "Acknowledge her art,
give most precious of what you belong."
"Pearls or the diamonds, poem or a song? "
"Deserve something more her fingers soft.
look through my windows there is my croft,
on the branch of a tree is a singing dove,
acknowledging a rose for aroma of love."
A simply marvelous and beautiful poem. The photo is great. Are you getting younger, Akhtar?
This is so beautiful. What a lovely poem for your granddaughter accompanied by a beautiful graphic. Children can inspire us to heights of poetic finesse.
Oh how lovely! Our little ones inspire us to heights of great expressions. No doubt your granddaughter knows well just how much she is loved. This is charming and sweet. Thank you for sharing. Many blessings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Silver hair is glittering gold. Time turns and old age comes and such appearance acquires moment. Acknowledging heart's whisper we feel love all around us. Granddaughter loves to hear fairy tale from grandfather and likes to hear song of Dove. Very interesting and lovable poem this is. Having nice image with granddaughter delights this poem more. EXCELLENT! ...10