Bird of Passage
BIRD OF PASSAGE
Here comes him,
From the mountain and hills descends him,
Singing the melodies of the hymn,
In his hand a tonic made from neem,
His staff made from tree's limb.
As he travels without destination,
Good life and hope are his imaginations,
Sun,moon and stars were his companions,
His legs were never weary,
Neither did his back fatigued,
Till he journed till the end of the world,
For he was a liberal soul.
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