Like the joy on the heart of a sorrow,
The sunset hangs on a cloud;
A golden storms of glittering sheaves,
Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves,
The wild wind blows in a cloud.
Hark to the voice that is calling
To my heart in the voice of the wind:
My heart is weary and sad and alone,
For its dreams like that fluttering leaves of gone,
And why should I stay behind?
- Saroniji Naidu
submitted: 03 January 2013 A.D.