Hu-tu-tu-tu

Our nightingale and daffodil sings to the tune of hope and embellish the hills

Nightingales are the decorated
Metaphors of poetry
I know not of its song
But I do know of a bird

In my native soil
Which sings hu-tu-tu-tu
Heralding the farmers
To pick their spades for toil
And prime the seeds for sow

"Hu-tu-tu-tu", dawns our nightingale
With a melody so serene
"You may get up, all is well now"

One can only embrace the ease it brings
And allow the bird to melt your misery
But that's not the only beacon

Hu-tu bird is chaperoned
By the hu-tu flower
The daffodil to our Wordsworth
It calmly blooms

After the slash and burn
To enchant the farmers
That the land is fertile
They crave not for rain or attention
Rather choose to shine alone
And thrive in the rugged terrains
With variants of pinkish hue
And serve their beauty on a platter
to nourish the hungry farmers

Our nightingale and daffodil
Sings to the tune of hope and embellish the hills
Once their purpose is served
They take spring with them
And vanish into thin air
Leaving not a trace behind

We don't know where they come from
Or where they go next
But the few weeks are ample
For them to set the year in stead
True gems aren't meant to be possessed
But silently treasured in the heart
With a faith that they will always return

- A gentle warmth to conquer the harsh winter

First Published:Nov. 8, 2020, 4:02 p.m.

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