It’s not my song, nor is it my life.

It’s the blue-black cuckoo who found its perch.

Amidst the dazzling red flowers on bare grey branches,

The singing black bird on its metallic shimmering feathers,

Gaping at the gleaming sun, and the red flowers falling on waft,

The lone white cloud on the blue sky upon!

If it’s some other time; if it weren’t full in bloom,

Will you be here on this dreary summer noon, my cuckoo?

It’s this tree standing whole year, to bear its flowers just on this summer.

And if the summer isn’t agony, it’s for you my mayflower.

It’s a garland of red to the sky, for rain gods to descend.

Bend their neck, for if it’s a bit cooler.

And for the passersby it’s just a standing wonder,

That if a tree can smile at the hem of summer heat.

So for now its mayflowers, the smile of the summer!

If this isn’t life, there is never ever to be.

Bowing to thee, my mayflower, you tell it summer.

And you bring it with all smiles.

-------------------------------------------Priyan----------------------------------------------------------------

(Nature has wonders on its store, like say because its life!)