Shishir Gupta Poet Free verse

Kid In Mud

Mired in grime,
the little guy sang,
he had little sense,
of what was neat and clean,
he spluttered mud,
as he fell in the quagmire,
with a gleeful thud,
the mom came along,
before long,
chided him hard,
for he was growing fast,
and faster still gathering dirt,
she was fearful of him,
of the ills he might catch,
he still wanted,
the mud,
as much delight as it could fetch.

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