23354 posts
  • rani_shri 14m

    Real story:-


    Today, I was walking on the terrace in the evening time. My 6 years old nephew was playing there. Suddenly I noticed that he was counting the thousands of scattered clouds in the sky. I thought people count stars and he's counting the clouds.

    And suddenly he called me, - "Maasi!!Maasi!! , see there's a 'U' shaped cloud. See, he is smiling."

    I asked "oh really where?"

    "There it is." He shouted and asked me an unusual question that "why is the cloud laughing?"

    I said, "umm I don't know, what do you think about it?"

    The logic, he applied here put me into thousands of laughters.

    He said, "probably because we keep these pots of water on our railings which is drunk by the birds and birds are the friends of clouds, So the cloud is smiling that we give water to his friends. He's thanking us for the water we keep here." ( he fills the pot every evening by his own)

    I nodded in yes and he kept staring on the disappearance of the cloud's smile.

    But his answer made me think for a while. Wasn't his answer attention grabbing?

    At least for me, it was really an unexpected answer. I never had thought about this aspect. We think clouds are normal and we assume the shapes, but he applied his logic there in that smile.



    Suddenly he said, "Maasi Statue!!'

    I was a statue,and suddenly it stroke my mind that this game or action is unusual as we suddenly play this game and forget soon.

    He said "over" and I continued to walk. Also played a peek-a-boo game with me.

    Again he put me into thoughts.
    The one who thinks about the birds and clouds is playing with me. What gets happened to him that just serious one is saying statue statue and peek-a-boo..



    Don't know what did hit his mind and he asked me, "Ok tell me there are so many people in your life, whom you want to be like?"

    I crossed him- "you tell first !"

    He said about a character of a daily soap who saves his best friend from a huge accident. He will become like him and help everyone.

    Now it was my turn to answer.

    I said, "Ani! I want to be like you."

    He shockingly asks, "why so?"

    I said, "because you're unusual and so are your questions, answers and actions."

    He didn't understand me and got busy in himself. But I kept thinking about the little one. He's just six years old and has a good matured mind and talkative nature as well. He grabs my attention everytime with all his activities and words. The third condition was more attention deserveing because his question was very matured and so was his answer. These type of questions ,we normally ask in interviews or classrooms.

    The mixture of his innocence and maturity is the most unusual thing for me. Because he plays with me, asks and answers both funny and serious answers according to the questions. His nature and behaviour changes according to situation at the very little age, which even I couldn't adopt till now. That's why I said, I want to become like you.

    My answer was right, I want to become like him.



    PC- me

    #spectacle #wod

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    The Matured Innocence...

  • inborn_scribbler 42m


    Therapy encourages you to pull out your insecurities from the wardrobe of your mind. The fears hanging high, the ignored inner child folded between files of trauma, the maladaptive behaviours falling out at 4 a.m. when you try searching for your nightdress.

    The space is overstuffed but we won't rush for a picture-perfect moment. Healing is not about perfection anyway. We'll look at the shelves (one by one), understand what the locker has been concealing, plan what needs the laundry service and what we can rearrange.

    It could take months to dry clean the shirts of unpleasant feelings, you may not even want to touch it when you first look at it and it's okay. Whenever you are tired, we'll pause and take a mindful breath. Only after you replenish your energy, will we get back to the blue shirt you were attempting to iron.

    You'll see yourself giving away some clothes that you no longer wear. Sometimes it may be particularly difficult to let go of a few coats and ties because you've had those for years. But you've outgrown old patterns and you have been able to push yourself to buy new outfits. There were doubts and questions that popped up. Yet, you did go to the trial room before making a decision. Some decisions are easily made while some take years. It's alright, it really is. We are not displaying our progress cards on a notice board for public scrutiny.

    The wardrobe is neater on some weeks than others. The graph is not linear, it is unlikely that it will be so. In therapy, we first learn to accept the wardrobe when it is unsettled. We are aware that neatness needs consistent maintenance and it is hard work. The challenges don't go away, we train ourselves to work in their presence.

    And, while you are taking care of the wardrobe, you know that you're not alone. Your therapist is unconditionally rooting for you.


  • go_win_the_hearts 1h

    #spectacle #wod

    What else can be more spectacular than this??
    @writersnetwork @mirakee

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  • sonu99 1h

    #spectacle, #sea, #ocean, #magical, #miracle ,#whimsical, #spectacular ,#seascape, #life, #view, #pod,#wod,@writersnetwork,@writerstolli,@mirakee,@mirakeeworld
    A glimpse of the sea world is just magical,
    The life in the ocean is a miracle,
    The waves kissing the shoreline is just whimsical,
    The seascape is in itself captivating and spectacular.

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    A glimpse of the sea world is just magical,
    The life in the ocean is a miracle,
    The waves kissing the shoreline is just whimsical,
    The seascape is in itself captivating and spectacular.

  • jayanthdeshmukh 1h


    One couldn’t see too well,
    The other couldn’t see at all
    Both would have missteps
    But only one would fall
    One could see the light
    The other could only see night
    Yet the two knew each other well
    Holding each other’s hand as they walk,
    Mistep turning to steps on trust and talk
    But time would tell
    That, it is indeed a spectacle to behold
    When the bespectacled girl
    Fell in love with the blind man

  • bmp_365 1h

    I sit

    Every time when
    I am with her I
    Just sit as I enjoy
    Look at her face
    As it's a beauty.
    I sit as I try to
    Wave away the
    Feelings as each
    Time when I am
    With her my heart
    Just says isn't she
    A beauty bro?
    I sit as my heart
    Says we must love
    As I wish I could
    Let her see how
    Much my heart
    Admires her.


  • unblossomedyet 2h

    Adieu... Venetian Blinds!

    How can I forget you ? My Louvre window!!!

    When describing my vintage house,
    For the high ceilings ,and the distinctive aesthetics
    The Venetian blinds controlled the sun in through it,
    Posing as curtains, louvers made peeping simple by the house full of energetics.

    The blinders of the house have lots to unfold,
    They held hidden stories,for generations untold.
    The Jalousies as named, offered enough room for histories to create,
    The window became the signature, remembering the glories to relate.

    Months rolled into decades that changed to century
    My window stood tall and elegant
    Witnessing many members come and go,
    Capturing moments and making them a memory.

    Today there’s nothing open about you my window.
    You've shut yourself in and out.
    Holding the legacy of the vintage house,
    You still smile quietly without a doubt.

    Battered by the strong winds and chills of the air,
    Fighting the perilous rain and the sun with all its glare,
    A day will come when I will never see you anymore.
    But you will hold a special place in my heart.
    And I will always mention you in my sweet folklore.


  • say_me_krish 2h


    My E Y E S
    are those 'cambric clouds' made of the finest august diamonds which start losing a bit of their worth everytime as soon as they deliquesce waters by the anomalous cheeks when the one who appreciated values and attributes like an archaeologist broke his opinions while mining for some precious fossil and ended up finding rough heaps of misunderstandings in the game of betrayal. And when my sights rained the most precious gems, I found no mercenaries around me picking them to make necklaces for their girlfriends who never know that these pair of almonds commit mistakes by interpreting first impressions without knowing skin deep things. Greed and rage don't keep faith in the voyage from eyes to grounds, maybe.

    My N O S E
    is a 'stalactite' hung down the forehead, which the priest of the Kali temple believes to have engraved with the scriptures of my future happenings and deteriorations; and sadly, even a single metaphor from that whole volume of tragedy didn't cross my eyes. If it had at least grown up as a papule on my nasal bone, I would have made a random soccer attempt to burst the truth out, and if I had hit the right goal, I would have found happiness in today's scarlet sunset which I peeped out from the bleed holes of my life. And my life is unfortunately spaced only with 'its'. My routine says that oxygen molecules passing through my bleeding nostrils carry nostalgia with them for a tour inside my rotting body.

    My L I P S
    are 'chrysanthemums' dipped in velvety roseate hues after gluing some beauteous petals of the only white rose in my backyard, which gasp for some liberty from the compression of Tuscan sun coloured pages; they smelt of hope yesterday. Due to continuous yearning for a mild touch of his verses, they started making boundaries on their own selves so that the one who sees those blackberry existences grasps the rancorous truth that living, leaving, hoping and breaking come in every plates for a dinner someday or the other. Despites of going to their offices everyday to speak, what they yearn for is my quietude, for they entwine ephemerally yet ethereally when silence stands ready with the microphone for its concert of love.

    My C H E E K S
    are those 'saccharine irwin mangoes' which ripened into the tinges of lotus on finding the love they both needed since two autumns, they waited for him to share their redness with. But when reality gave them more than what they expected, the sangria skies withered nostalgically on finding their tints on somebody else, and they dusked away to death and darkness on further knowing that my plumps displayed a palette of that woebegone artist next door who had brighter gradients of red; a heart wrenching spectacle 'twas. The places my muse's lips visited have all become voids of the darkest black, which are tired of oozing out crimson as soon as those handwritten greetings inked of treachery catch mere sights of. They felt calligraphy is beautifulness in itself, but the tallies of my sorrow's account say that it isn't.

    My F A C E
    is thus a 'war poetry' which started with affectionate alliances and ended up being distorted into bloodsheds like that six year old child who became a pawn of sacrifice for the king holding a triumphant sceptre of lust. Every scar resonates regret coated with myriad layers of lachrymosity, my doctor gives me an ointment of acceptance, but I fear if it held side affects just like love had. My eyebrows have shed out to mar my recognition feebly, my nostrils haven't been sending air to asphyxiate me with excruciating reminesces, my lips have been singing the same old melody which feels off-key now, my cheeks seem to have been killing their muscles day-by-day, and my face lies here like a recreant, refusing to spit out all my blood and pain with a fear that I might reach her. And now, her means death and that is all.

    ~S r i K r i s h n a P S | Nov 11, 2020

    The ending word from each stanza turned out to be a sentence as well (But doesn't relate to this writeup completely though *-*)

    This writeup was inspired by the 'Of literature' piece of @my_cup_of_poetry :)

    #reposts_from_vantab1ack #krishfav #spectacle #wod

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  • alinaqureshi 2h

    #mirakee #mirakeewriter #writersnetwork #wod
    @writersnetwork @readwriteunite @mirakeeworld @mirakee
    and my love and my feelings,
    were hidden in a chamber,
    behind the scars and wounds I've,
    wearing those my whole life.

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    and my love and my feelings,
    were hidden in a chamber,
    behind the scars and wounds I've,
    wearing those my whole life.

  • be_grateful 2h

    As a kid me and my besties were playing in the ground. Suddenly we heard foot steps sound.
    We turned back and saw a girl.

    Who was so fat. Her legs and hands were not so perfect. She was so gracious and speaking something which we can't understand.
    One of my friend wispered she walks like zombie.
    We got scared and ran like a horse.

    Her mother took her back with sombre.
    But she was still filled with elation which was unnatural for imagination.

    After soo long...
    We met at my aunt's house fortuitously.
    I don't know why but I was startled.
    I sat near her to make her feel batter.
    I collected my courage and
    asked what's your name?
    She didn't replied to whatever I say.
    I thought that she was angry for that day.

    Then she looked at her mother with addled eyes.
    And her mother started doing ASL signs.
    Then I came to know that she was deaf too.
    It shook me from head to toe.

    As she was so gentle and blissful.
    She doesn't know that people dislike her the most.
    She smiles towards everyone
    as she can't hear devil's words.

    It's not their fault that they are disabled but it
    is all of us who make them understand
    That yes! You are different from all of us.

    This was the most spectacle day of my life as it showed me that things which we are not grateful for,
    are still the struggle for someone's daily life.

    #spectacle #wod @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    Spectacle moment of my life


  • revathychandrasekhar 3h

    The tenderness of the blooming rose
    piqued the curiosity of the spectator.
    The gardener's penchant for the roseate
    buoyed up the spectator with a twinkle.

    The blossom was all set to spread out
    a petal with a teeny-weeny little bicycle.
    The diaphanous blossom felt moist under
    the dome of the lovey-dovey gardener.

    The bud wailed to hold the steer yet
    the hopes of the gardener didn't wane.
    He stooped to set the sole of the tenderfoot
    and waved his hand to pedal steadily.

    When the steer fluttered,the bud turned
    towards her e'er doting man of hope.
    The ardent father had his say with his
    blooming flower,"I'se got your back,look forward".

    The spectator was thrown into a muse
    by gazing at the father's bonding with his daughter.
    The spectator smiled at the blooming flower and
    like a butterfly he got his nectar from the flower.

    - Revathy. E��
    @mirakee @writersnetwork #wod #spectacle

    @rani_shri @thoughtsprocess @julie__ @fromwitchpen

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  • blossomwrites 3h

    It takes a minute to forgive
    And forever to forget
    But then again life is too short to cling onto the past
    Let go of your shortcomings and move on

  • soundlesss 3h

    A ᴅᴏᴏʀ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇᴇᴅs ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀʟᴄᴏɴʏ
    ᴛʜᴇ sɪᴛᴇ I ᴜsᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴘʀᴏғᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ
    ʙᴀʀᴇ ғᴏᴏᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴʟɪɢʜᴛ
    ʙᴇsɪᴅᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴜʙʙᴜʙ ᴏғ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ
    sᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀsɪᴅᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍs ᴏғ ɪsᴏʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
    Iɴᴄʜᴇs ᴀᴡᴀʏ ғʀᴏᴍ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴏᴘᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ sᴋʏ
    Tʜᴀᴛ ғʀᴇsʜ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ-sᴄᴇɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴀɪʀ
    ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴅsᴛ ᴏғ sᴛᴀʀ ʟɪɢʜᴛ
    Sᴛʀᴀɪɴs ᴏғ sɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ɴᴀɪᴠᴇ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
    ɪᴛ ғᴇᴇʟs ʟɪᴋᴇ ɴᴏʀᴍᴀʟ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ
    ɢᴀᴢɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ sᴋʏ ʟɪᴋᴇ
    I ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴀɴ ғʟʏ.
    A sᴍᴀʟʟ ʙʀᴇᴇᴢᴇ ᴘᴀssᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ sᴛʀᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ʜᴀɪʀ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ғᴀᴄᴇ
    I sʜᴏᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴇᴀʀs
    Lᴇᴀɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀʟᴄᴏɴʏ ʀᴀɪʟɪɴɢ
    ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴʟʏ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴍᴀᴋᴇs ᴍᴇ ғᴀʟʟ ғᴏʀ ɪᴛ.

    #balcony #feelings #peace #wod #pod @readwriteunite @writersnetwork

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  • minsangtamang 3h


    Spectaculous Silence guarded !
    Colossal Ears
    Miniature sink eyes
    Glossy lips
    Soothing voice
    Fringe cascade of hair rippling and pressing against the shoulders like the ship sailing and sinking in the ocean.
    Damsel in joy and distress.
    This is Spectacle or Spectacular .
    Maybe thy vision is Spectacle.
    Praise thy Spectacle

  • hoorbanu98 3h

    Spectacle advice♥

    Just say, Life is mine
    Then see, The shine of you.♥❤♥

    《 18-05-2021 》

  • wuthering_heights 3h

    A spectacle of reminiscences of the remnants

    The making of a high arch castle
    in seashore propinquity
    with chaliced reveries
    and swollen hands
    daisies and shooting stars
    has been ceased momentarily
    in exchange of hearts and dreams.

    I seeked to revive
    the wilted daisies and catch
    few stars grimacing
    and tried to make mother's
    name over the moonless
    night with eyes soaked in tears.
    Father endeavoured to sew back
    the broken pieces of the antique
    vase, the wind had transgressed
    and slyly pushed over the cliff
    of my little heart,
    while mother continued to join back
    the pieces of the home
    within the perfect house we lived.

    The summer of stinging nostalgia
    was slow as a snail,
    annoying as a hammer hitting the nail,
    like a crackling cloud over the welkin
    dripping sadness like paint off the walls,
    old age drew lines over her visage,
    girlhood was fading away from my diaries,
    love replaced by betrayals,
    skies turned red,
    and my heart plunged to read
    Plath and Woolf
    for they helped me
    drive my mind away from
    the thought of reversing time
    when all was fine, home was alive
    Little did I know, time was in fact
    Quicksand I mistook for bridges
    that I could walk back and forth
    for time too in the end
    d(o/i)es everything piecemeal.

    Time swept mother off the floor
    and closed her dwindling eyelids
    I found after all these years
    flowers I was searching for
    had little wings of their homes,
    and they are called words
    my tongue could never roll an r
    for the title of my book,
    My pages drank all the storms of
    poems and stories
    for my daisies
    and the vase they are in,
    outlasted my parents.

    ~ S.M

    #wod #spectacle #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @mirakee

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    [Summers of stinging nostalgia]

    Daisies escape gardens of candle lit poems when skies reek of vintage eras

    ~ S.M

  • clichepenname 3h

    My oeuvres laughed
    as everything I painted
    Jumped through wormholes
    and latched onto
    my breathing canvas
    Like lecherous leeches

    I’m a walking mosaic
    Dipped in Da Vinci’s dreams
    Colours on my skin
    Stretched like a
    Vitruvian Man
    I sucked on irises when I was thirsty

    Cartographers convened
    At my genitals
    To decipher maps of
    Spanish treasures hidden
    In the folds of
    My lumbago eaten spine

    I’m a virtuoso
    who ate colours
    Off all things of nature
    Hues hung onto papers
    As I walked past pigment pantheons
    Michelangelo’s Adam withered away

    Im not colour blind
    But my world is devoid of dyes
    At first I postulated
    Maybe these places had
    Bleaching rain
    I journeyed on

    Pale stains covered all living things

    Finally they licked
    Hypodermic needles
    Plunged it deep into
    My kaleidoscopic aorta
    It sprayed and seeped
    Into the mantle of our planet

    Pompei and Vesuvius
    Absorbed my bleeding tinctures
    The zest of my blood
    Burst into infernos
    And covered the Earth
    With rainbow ash

    I was the dissolving spectator

    As I became paler
    The world became luminous
    All things flying and swimming
    Vigorous with their new colours
    I closed my eyes
    As I became the pot of shades

    Into which

    God dipped his

    Colouring flax

    #spectacle #abstract #wod #pod @mirakee

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    Motley Man

    Im not colour blind
    But my world is devoid of dyes


  • asmita_chakraborty 3h

    Tis a long read ��

    "But a bird that stalks
    down his narrow cage
    can seldom see through
    his bars of rage
    his wings are clipped and
    his feet are tied
    so he opens his throat to sing."
    ~ Maya Angelou

    ᴛʜᴇ ʟ(ᴀ/ᴏ)ꜱᴛ ꜱɪɢʜ

    When she sings aloud in a pitch too high
    Humans would cater nearby
    Witness her with growing joy
    Hear her chirp,with joyous plight.

    For it's not the same,Not for her,
    Not in this silver rimmed cage.
    For she swam along the rimless sky
    Before she was tricked by a human hand.

    Bleak her voice is,she realised
    Cried too hard, of solemn denies.
    But human ears felt no pain
    They heard the murmur, and made their child listen to them.

    She did hide all salty waters behind her eyelids
    Continued singing with all probable symphonies
    She chirped a gospel of her life
    Highlighting the ironies of time.

    Of a time she crashed among the winds
    And of a time she was hit by the bar of steel
    A time when her features coloured the achromic sky
    And of a time when her wings could barely move by.

    Of a time when she took care of her kids,made nests and visited her relatives
    And of a time when she knew only men,their trades and buisness,she was homeless
    Of a time she danced on the lucid rains
    And of a time ,she received two bowls of water and grain in a day.

    Her thoughts again clamping her
    The sight of the bars, triggering high pressure
    She shooks a bit and cries to hard
    Twas for the last time.

    Her shrieking voice inaudible
    Her weary wings stagnant with fear
    He teary eyes closing
    Fighting against the long lost memories.

    Of the diving into sky
    Racing with the winds
    Making friends with clouds.
    Gossiping with the trees, thanking them by their adorning sweet chirping.

    All lost in moment,
    All lost in a shrug
    All emotions void
    After singing the last sigh.


    #monumentc Maybe not the Cinderella you wanted!
    But taged you because @writersbay this is a monument I tried to build in rememberance of the bird that was once free and now deceased for all those inhuman activities shower on it.

    #spectacle for it fills the aerial world with sparklers of life #wod

    @writersnetwork did I disappoint you again?


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    The La(/o)st Sigh


  • _astitva_ 1h


    It was a monsoon eve in the city of joy. As usual the dark clouds were veneering the azure sky like the bride's shyness veils her nervousness. It started drizzling soon to quench the thirst of the earth which was waited for the whole summer.The earthy aroma was vanquishing the aroma of eleventy jasmines. Sitting on the window still with my pen and coffee mug I was lost in the balladry beauty of nature. When I transpired from this ecstatic state, till that moment the hot coffee already turned into cold one. I just let it rested there and tried to pen down some verses for the scenatic beauty of the nature. Promptly, I descried a cute puppy drenched with rain whose leg stuck in a reticulated cover of a drain. Two children of less than ten years were trying to release puppy's leg from the painful capture. All of the three were completed drenched with the rain and shivering with the cold. My heart filled with empathy and I just rushed to help my little friends. It took me less than five minutes to reach at the spot but till that instance the leg was released and the puppy was licking the hands of its tiny friends to express its thankfulness. I could feel the mixed feelings of achievement and joy on their faces. All of them were screeming happily and my eyes were shedding happy tears. I just approached to my little friends and asked "Both of you are now completely wet and you will surely get scolded from your parents". But instantly one of them said no worries, this puppy was also getting drenched and also crying with pain so we felt it of utmost importance to help our friend. Picking up the puppy in their tiny hands they bid me goodbye and moved forward to the street left me standing perplexed with the thoughts of two seraphic souls.


    #spectacle #wod @writersnetwork @mirakee @childauthor_345

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    In this rapacious world I descried two seraphic souls as the torch bearers of humanity.


  • silver_flakes 3h

    In the green fields
    A youngling sat
    Calling with chubby hands
    To the black crow
    Whose claws clung
    To the thin, young shoot
    'Ba' it half giggled, half said
    Gummy smile wide n silly

    I try to imagine what Mr. Crow thought
    Of the spectacle before him

    Human youngling seems big
    All flesh and no feathers
    To keep warm on cold nights
    No beak to eat and hold stuff
    Just a wide gaping hole
    No claws to pick stuff
    Just flat chubby flesh
    Pity oh pity

    And as Mr. Crow cocked his head to the side
    It seemed to pity youngling
    For it could not fly
    Feel the rush of cool air
    And soar above the city lights
    But then youngling got up
    And ran with legs shaky
    Through the field
    Smelling scents of flowers
    On the rushing bout of air
    So while the sky could not hold youngling
    The soft soil and pretty flowers could
    Youngling giggled
    And Mr. Crow seemed to smile.


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    //Sweet gaping smile
    Playful and fidgety hands
    Eyes bright and squinty
    Chubby cheeks inviting
    Taking only life's beauty
    Avoiding the dark within
    Colourful view of life
    Little but brave in heart
    Enchanting and angelic//