Her offer of herbs
would soon wilt in the sun.
A few soiled notes
if she may gather at the end
can make her come back
every morn
with the garden fetch.
Sixteen rupees,
she raises her doe eyes,
our palms blush in the exchange.
She smiles, you are a rupee short.
Love is never short of script.
Jul 8, 2024
Jul 8, 2024 at 12:50 PM UTC
Her offer of herbs
would soon wilt in the sun.
A few soiled notes
if she may gather at the end
can make her come back
every morn
with the garden fetch.
Sixteen rupees,
she raises her doe eyes,
our palms blush in the exchange.
She smiles, you are a rupee short.
Love is never short of script.
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