O gentle moonlight, pour on me thy knowledge

unbiased to men , cattle or trees strewn in wilderness.

Let me ride along, on thy pure uncolored sledge

thru’ wind free, unequalled by suns or million stars.


I ride with you into the gallery of gallant few,

joyously we roam amongst the paintings untainted

and I withdraw when clock strikes four with morning dew,

they shine the same and we glide with glory we attained.


We pass the farm of melons millions ripe

smiling we at art of lord, who never left easel for once.

Here we stay just as before ; within and without

attuned to the unuttered symphony in  heart.




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