Loose leaves showering from the tress,
Falling on the dusky grains of sand making me ultimate free.
Away from the fact and technicality suppressed in the layers of willows,
Thy binding me in a duster of emotions lifting like a air in glow,
Tinkering my heart I followed your footprints below.
Silence preferred to the words when your passion is portrayed in a dress,
Then art of narration work wonders and arrest ,
Mingling with the spirits of waving grass and like touching the right strings in address.
When minute things calculate to a whole number,
The essence of the dry leaves in books of Homer and Virgil,
Being together then become a state of bliss , I will describe in tales verbal.