Monday, 22 July 2013

My very own poetry-book......3................The Wisp.

The “wisp”

By Archana Sandeep Tambe

A sparkling twinkle, a charming face
A bright old  gown, covered in lace,
A battered  hat to adorn her crowning glory
A pearly grin that told her story

She spoke very little and always with a lisp,
But you could never ever miss, this sweet little wisp
Through poverty-stricken and sad old lanes
Houses  shattered and broken window panes
The wisp, she floated, her basket full of flowers,
Smiles and cheers she brought about
She  possessed Godly powers

For who could laugh  in such times
When the World War was to  the fore
Only cries and tears and gloom you heard
As you passed by any door!
  
But , the petite wisp , she sang merrily
And hung pretty  flowers on doors
Waved to every soul that passed
As she got on with her chores

Sad as they were, they always laughed
When the wisp sang her merry tune
Be it a lady or a man or an elder
Or be it the local prune

Not a morsel of food did she get sometimes
Or nothing to drink either
Dampened never her spirits this
Not close, not even hither

The village children flocked beside
The wisp to hear her tales,
Smiling always,  she did abide
With stories from the Wales


When darkness fell, and when alone,
Yes, that was when she cried
For her lost near and dear ones
For their country, who had best tried
Hungry, ill and tired, late she fell asleep

To wake up to another day, to take another leap!!!