The lonesome soul does restless run in search
Of nest whose build incomplete yet then when
A stormy wind did blow it off its perch,
And since, has years gone by, it writhes in pain --
The wretched soul, in tears that run not dry.
Can crying over spilt milk be redeemed?
Yet cries the soul, cries its abortive outcry.
It knows the ravaged nest can't be retrieved,
And that sans nest never can it exist.
Yet, till its death, shan't cease the quest for love
Though thrown down hard, wings broken, its tryst
It knows still nowhere in the tree above --
Rich, luxuriant and beautiful yet more,
Its boughs with other nests and souls yet stronger.
-- N P SAMAL
Very nice
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