Real Spring Poem by Mehta Hasmukh Amathaal

Find new muse
And chose
Music
With magic

It is spring morning
Call with simple warning
Go to nature
And surrender

Nature is furious
Shall show wrath continuous
Until some wisdom is shown
And some destruction is withdrawn

Birds sing with silence
No tears shall be seen at once
Bu their plight with reflect
With disappearance of musical

It is real spring at “Muse”
Readers have defused
With lovely and beautiful poem flowers
The monsoon indicates in time showers