The old farmland of the old village..;

surmounted by the whispering hilly range..

Laid with some coniferous forest;

where the farmers laid at rest..

Morning till Dusks;

plantation and crops....

Some with apples and some with cherries..;

still there were fragnance of rosemerries...

O..wow..vast stretches of 'yellow and red.'..;

It was 'he' who made....

The first ray of Early morn....;

just love to see the beauteous dawn..

In a narrow path,'he' carried his"crest";

tucked his cloth in his waist...

Wheatish complexion turned dark;

....empathising with the song of lark....

The muscular man,'his' juvenile smile..happy with 'his' state,with 'his' hardworking mate

The oxen in the middle,with force, hard and brittle;

The scorching heat and empty stomach..;

farm laden with veggies aback...

Making "empty soi'l so much Edible..

Thats what makes 'his' work commendable!!!!

SOOKANNYA