In Silent Prayer

When the chilly wind starts blowing from the North,  I don't curse the wind,  But lovingly admire the birds and their merry chirping for the last time this year,  And locate my most preferred shawl!  The birds are not cruel, they are not abandoning me for ever,  They promise to return next summer,  I just have to be patient, and uncomplaining, and tolerant!  I watch stoically the last batch of Red Roses wither.  Appreciatively I cut and pick up the last few green veggies from the tiny patch in the corner of my garden,  Rake yellow leaves from the backyard with tender hands when the ground gets covered,  And welcome and admire the sweet smell of Fall's Pleasant, gentle, entrancing air!  With a priceless Kashmiri shawl wrapped around me!  Oh, those exotic shawls from the heavenly place they came from,  A place overlooking unforgettable serene Dal Lake where sikaras float causing tiny circular ripples in the tranquil water,  And the Mughal Gardens harbouring exotic Chinar with pointed leaves!  Irreplaceable by any memory!  Surrounded by Olympian mountains, one magical valley on Earth, I may not ever return!  In my garden, the calm willow, the playful crab apple, the majestic rose - stand In silent prayer!