When the summer comes,
The family, friends and relatives,
Bring their children to play,
Under a 100 years old oak tree.
One side, Elder managed their chairs,
And played chess, chrome or cards.
Oneside children swing their swings,
And ladies enjoy their chat.
Fresh air comes and everyone feels calm,
And sets until the Sun goes to cool down,
Everyday, it seems a festival delivers peace,
Birds also sing their song and enjoyed all.
When father was dying, he warned his Son,
This Tree was grown by his grand father,
The prosperity in the house is a cause of tree,
Don’t let him cut, father; Willn’t come to bless.
Few years later, children has a fight for shares,
They cut the tree and divided land in portions,
They also built concreted high towers as others,
Happiness once disappeared and never come back.
Copyright © Daljit Khankhana | Year Posted 2005
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