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Cotton from the clouds is calling, the foggy fog is falling. Every place is now in white, freezing is the water falling from height. Frozen is the river and the lake, but harder it is to get awake. Even sun is at home, sleeping, and not even a single bird tweeting. Come out people, come out of home, enjoy the winter before it is gone. Clouds are flying like heaven’s dove, with mother nature’s covering of love. Trees are wearing their white sweaters, no one can imagine a season better. Seemal Goyal, X-A, My mother Who fed me from her gentle breast, and hushed me in her arms to rest, and on my cheek sweet kisses prest? When sleep forsook my open eye, who was it that sung a sweet hushaby, and rocked me that I should not cry? My mother, who sat and watched my infant head, when sleeping on my cradle bed, and tears of sweet affection shed? My mother. Who taught my lips to pray, and have God’s holy book and day, and walk in wisdom’s pleasant way? My mother. And can I ever cease to be, affectionate and kind to thee, who was so very kind to me, My Mother? Ah no! the thought I cannot bear, and if God please my life to spare, I hope I shall reward thy care to, My Mother. Divyangna Arora,
Class VIII-B, |
