When I look up the sky, appears the face Tearing the blazing cruelty of summer, As thousands of akasias spread their branches And sucks the blaze through coolness all instanter, And soothing notes and tones of a million songbirds, In flocks and flights, do ring a symphony, While shades of pain are soaked up by the world's All balmy whites, with my intense ennui. The face of Mama -- of purity a paragon, With beauty, goodness, peace, as of an angel -- Does stop not pouring o'er me her compassion, And fast appears as sounds my smarting yell. And more the day's assaults grow hard, intense, More I'm snugged by the face' divine innocence. -- N P Samal