The Mooning. Poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
The Mooning.
How much pain, how much strain,
How much time, how much space,
To plough and grow our courtship,
Knowing it would yield raw fruits.
A guava half ripe tastes as good.
The unripe love is more worth
As to the unborn love.
22.12.2000, Pmdi
Friday, July 9, 2010
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8/28/2026 1:18:26 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
