Golden rays tinkle my face, as I take my usual walk,
Around the fragrant garden, in the morning hours.
The bees ,butterflies and birds hover gayly over,
Flamboyant flowers, rapidly as Olympic sprinters.
In a deadly silent corner of the noisy, moistly loan,
Dozes off a messy posy of light purple spiky flowers.
Dripple-drippy and pitter-patter drizzling falls rain,
Filled not with water, but with arrogant, cruel pats.
The innocent purple fairies close their eyes hastily,
Shrinks their frocks as frightened turtles and snails.
Only a split of a second, they breathe in the fresh,
Airs ,and the rest, wail inside, no open blossoms.
I wonder why the faintly purple fairies so timidly,
Lower their heads to all the big troublesome souls.
I wonder why the faintly purple fairies so unusually,
Got the slightly lengthy, name of “Forget-me-nots”.
I realized slowly that, the tiny purples are urging,
The garden populace to care for them, sans forgets.
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