Sunday Poem By The Pheasant of Joy(Vasu)


You might not see the morning
You might not wail for late rise
People hardly know you rise late
People hardly growl your bumming

You might have thought you can’t
You might have grimaced calmness
Fresh morn’s tender palfrey gnaws
Masked faces pass away sans sound

Falls do not dent the universe usually
But sure they leave you debilitating
You sadly gaze on the onerous activity
Mutter your inability to tryst the morn

With invigorating upbeat and will power
Could only salvage you from drooping
Chinning up is a gateway to building
A robust day given your unfailing joy.

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