With those fluffy clouds criss crossing

With soft baloons flying high

When you came to me with my story

I knew, it must be a lie

With the cool mountain air on me

With coffee in my senses

Any lament that I would have

Would be in past tenses

With moist dew dipped grass below

From somewhere far a song

I knew whatever you were telling

Must be some what wrong

For these are magic moments

These short and brief spans

Everything’s so well curved

It can not but be Man’s.

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