Who could bring dry wood
from the wood
once the rain would start?
For fear of getting them on her head drenched
the wench ran under the darkest clouds overhead
gnashing their teeth sounding like fart
threatening her safe journey to homestead.
Steady and alert
quickly to come out of the wood
she ran faster than her mood.
It was nothing but a play
among the rain and the cloud
with the damsel and the wood;
but she was an elf, gossipmongers say
(c) Aju Mukhopadhyay, 2017
Category: Romantic and rhyming