The growth of life buoyantly bears the womb
With pride and honour, but can't hold the weight
When strikes the labour, then puts in the bosom
A cute offspring - the Creation's wondrous guest.
The bosom laps the glory up with surge
Of love and keeps onto the breasts to suckle
The elixir as the hands and whole do nurse
The blest little thing with love and oracle.
But can a life which grows to stray be nestled?
And like the womb, the bosom too gives in
To toddler's forward impulse and does yield
It to the world to grow by its design.
Alas, none grows past the plan of the sphere!
And in its vagaries, each one does wither.
- N P SAMAL
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