Tourist

You luxuriously flew to this Concreted forest, looked for me In these brown zinced roofs, But found me not. In despair you drove off to the Growth points were the poor Congregate to drink their misery off But found me not. Then maneuvered through the Paired ox-drawn cart paths Inquisively eyes picking around But found me not. To my grass thatched hut Compounded by a mango tree And a dried cropped backyard You found me not Selves in high dejection On your high wheeled cars, You drove to the encamped Jungle, and you found me. Picture perfect you captured me, Precariously swinging on branches In delight of your discovery. Oh here i am, the story you came for.