Beauty

I had sat under a tree
Under the bushy green leaves,
To write in rhyme sweet,
My mind was in dream,
On a face I had seen,
More sweet, more charming a face never been.
So soft the cheeks, red the lips,
What lustre in hair, love in eyes.
I took a pen a poem to write,
Her beauty and charm to describe.
A line I wrote and another in praise,
Then careless my eyes raise
On a little flower there on bed.
Its colour so bright and red.
A breeze from far came to flirt,
Shy flower swung from its thrust,
In blush its face to me turned,
I stared, my dream upturned.
What beauty this, the other beauty outshone,
My fancy to write the poem was gone.
Meena’s face, her beauty to write,
I had taken the pen,
The flower’s face, O its beauty­
What to write, how to write–
I dropped the pen.