The dawn has arrived at my feet to think of her, that I compare with a romantic time that I sung with my pleasant imagination's songs. There as in a trance I traveled to seek the birds of that village which gave me inspiration to write many of my songs. There was a pastoral joy that covered with the dew drops upon the green, ever-green grass. The native-country smile rammed through me, how this was beautifying me. Awake not every instrument that has breath and a few seen the first curtains of the rising dawn. I was refreshing to work, the travelling soul in me finds many views of maturing dawn. At last I stopped near a house, made of brown tiles. The house was decorated with Garden Urns where plants sprung with sweet odor. My mind forgets the melancholy order and met her at the place I was stopped
'Dear, the time is less and as I was hasten to you' she said thus
'We go fade some other part, to pour our secret' I said
we moved in the hide of tree shades and I inquired about the situation of our love for hours.Then the dark fell in
years passed after,gone and torn
Now I heard a sound from a distance,that voice echoes in me now of past
somebody is listening to me now where I live in my old story
Me and My Muse......My Muse died
