This poem is dedicated to one of my close friend (avni).
The one who takes after cold ,
Like mountains with melting gold.
The one who gives over to heat ,
Is finally awake from her sleep .
You were sleeping under an oak ,
When suddenly you awoke.
The wind danced around,
With little buds pushing the ground.
You have only just woken up,
But the air smells of buttercups.
You were stroking a possum ,
While young leaves and flowers blossomed.
You have lovely rosy cheeks,
With golden curls undone.
One would suppose you are meek,
But when provoked you are second to none.
While you are up and about ,
The flowers go plumper,
And little plants get stout,
Until you get into a slumber.