When the sound travels,
it has compression and rarefaction ;
Is writing the feelings has restrictions
In life problems are many
I started to search the solution of any
It like the person's soul and nature
I don't like evil creature
When the mood changed
Thoughts of the person are exchanged
It seems like a visionary
Like the innocent mathematically
Tried to the person to show the right path
But in the world who is going to listen our part.
FEBRUARY ON WILDMOOR HEATH
Across the Heath the chill'ed land is sleeping
The cyclic pattern of seasonal life bespeaking
Bushes hunched, bare trees holding themselves still
Not restrained by death but life's farseeing will
The grasses, sedge and reeds withered dried and flaxen
Restrained soft shades of colours' rarefaction
Only holly and pine maintain pigmentation verdant
Not yet time to select a spectrum more divergent
With wisdom each life employs a cautious strategy
Not now to dare the relentless advance of entropy
They bide their time, for the moment they can delay
The ineluctable annual vernal affray
In a score of days and nights life will be stirring
The survival drive restored and action spurring
Mother Nature will awaken stretch and yawn
But for now deepest sleep is just before the dawn