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.