Waylaid sitting on a wooden plank
Selling milk in morning brightened
With smile divine
Often confronted on my way
Ruffled hairs gone grey
Wrinkles allover twinkle in eyes
Tremble or fumble
Never she jumbled
Humbled.....
Blessed I feel of blissful sight
Though I never bought or ever stopped
For a drop of milk which she sold
Still the divine presence of her
Flocked my thoughts
Sitting on a wooden plank
Grace every morning with a smile
Poem about a sight of an old lady, whom I often saw , while coming to office. Selling milk, every morning with a smile and grace. Aura of her blissful presence is divine.
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