Originally published as a part of Rekha Publication.

O’er the peaks and valleys,
Glides a silken shroud!
Up above runnels, it sallies
With trains of cotton clouds.

“Hark, O blues!”, said the
deep, vast brine.
“Look at me!”, cried out
the trailing vine.

Draped in such mildness,
The welkin of earth!
With beauty so finesse,
Rests the vault over us.

Brushed by the sun’s strokes,
A painting so ambrosial.
Glistened by the rain drops,
A coverlet that’s surreal.

Wonderful creation of nature,
So high and afar!
A guardian of superior stature,
With nothing on par.