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Marigold Musings

by Gowri Bhargav



The nascent π™—π™§π™šπ™šπ™―π™š π™©π™žπ™₯π™©π™€π™šπ™¨ stealthily
across the field
As the noon sun yawns behind the pregnant clouds…
Feeling the tingle,
the coy π™’π™–π™§π™žπ™œπ™€π™‘π™™π™¨ bob their heads enraptured,
A thousand sway all at once,
Prancing, fluttering,
Twirling, bowing,
Like trained ballerinas they bounce with the dulcet rythm of susurrating leaves,
And a pensive artist swirls his brush into a colourful palette of his π™˜π™π™€π™žπ™˜π™š,
To recreate the merry moment orchestrated by nature
Upon his bleached π™˜π™–π™£π™«π™–π™¨ to make it breathe for eternity.


Picture Credit: Pixabay

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