Tangent dreams of a merry world
gone by in a distant swirl
reality has broken quite a few
fallen on grass like the morning dew
At night he goes to the mountain
and weeps like a flowing fountain
once he had it all
glory in bounty before his fall
Now alone he sits in the evenings
reminiscing his old beginnings
tending to old wounds
and feeding his hounds
They call him the old man
he is a grouch from Dec to Jan
cause little do they know
you reap what you sow.
-Niyati Parab
niyati 