To sway the elegant self,
To avert scorching warmth of glow,
Shall the blooming flowers await
The gentle breeze to blow!
To appease unendurable hunger,
For the nourishments to draw,
Shall the famished worms await
The tender shoots to grow!
To liven up crops on dead dry substratum,
The trust the season did embezzle,
Shall the perturbed farmers await
For a blessed heavenly drizzle!
To solace the sight of old weary eyes,
‘ere with life she’s done,
shall the age-crippled mother await
the return of her only son!
To pour out my concealed words within,
To whisper my words close to your ear,
Shall I, anxiously await
For your presence my dear