The Old Man and His Garden
I saw this old man time and time again,
I was a little child then;
He wakes up early in the morn,
Despite there is a rainstorm;
No idea of having his tea,
Whilst I saw him with bended knees;
Picking up all the fallen leaves by his hand,
There is not even a single weed in his land;
Altogether but lovely flowers with different hues,
Rose, dahlia, marigold to mention few;
He walks to and fro around his garden,
Signalling that trespassers are forbidden;
When I smiled at him, he frowns,
Like an angry king without a crown;
Years and years passed by,
I still saw the old man working like a busy bee;
Grown old and full of wrinkles,
But his eyes still twinkles;
He takes good care of his garden,
Like a responsible warden;
Yet again, I tried to smile at him, he frowns,
Like an angry king without a crown.
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