Four score and five years ago
At one opportune moment, nary another,
Birth of a seedling-
The Gods hath witnessed with wonder.
Thus spake the King of Kings
“Lo and behold,
This here is a child
Who is to become humanity’s Gold.”
Seven years hath passeth
Since that glorious day,
The seedling is now firmly planted
With the clear intention to stay.
In company of Banyan trees
Or on old school benches,
Everyday the seedling learnt
And grew itself new branches.
Twenty years hath passeth
Since that rejoiced day,
And now the Shrub has become fascinated
By a Nightingale- and its grey.
Yet an impossible choice
It has to face,
Does it wish for the Nightingale
Or is it the moment of greatness which it is destined to embrace.
Thirty years hath passeth
Since that illustrious day,
The Tree now firmly entrenched
Braves the Storms like a child’s play.
Neither the Thunder
Nor can the Winds now wake
The countless nightingales
Who sing everyday of its great tale.
They rhyme and chirp about a Tree
That sacrificed its branches and a bird,
To stave away a ferocious Serpent
And saved an entire herd.
Many years hath passeth
Since that extra ordinary day,
The Tree well past it’s prime now
Has nothing more to wish or pray.
It just waits patiently
Knowing that time has come for its decay,
Very soon he shall be rejoined with the Nightingale
And this time for Eternity.