Eight years ago in Nov,
He brought the Canary home….
Sweet and smart she hopped,
In the cage, relieved;
Through high tides and low,
She sang to him, Tra-la-la la-la…
Ms. Chirpy chirp, she was,
Until he walked, with his girl;
Stories galore he would rant,
Of cousins near and dear,
Of kiddish crimes,
And cohorts of the prime,
Of witty rustic tales,
And magnum opuses,
Stories of the Sicilian mafia,
The plethora of games and wars,
Debates of unconventionalities,
Of struggles against the crowd,
Until one day, The Canary flew,
Stoned and hurt,
By his nonchalance….
- ഴൊഎ ക
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