The Herbal Oil Vendor Poem by nimal dunuhinga

My poor Mom was in the General Hospital
For an immediate surgery
And we take her meals everyday
Brother and I are alternatively.
The Herbal oil Vendor in his Sixties
Who stands at the entrance gate
And sell his precious stuff.
He boasts; ' These bottles are worth than money
Straight away from Himalayas
And the one and only remedy for loss of hair.'
He's totally a Bald headed
And nobody query why don't he applies this panacea?

nimal dunuhinga