OPTIMISM

A lark keeps singing

With a magic of her own

A dead larch standing

With a forest to be grown.

A maim in wheelchair

Neither dead nor standing

Keep on days counting.....

When she could take her own care

In the street it’s beggar treat

Throwing the lyrics in summer heat

Expecting the penny from every head

Never felt bad about the rejected bread.

Off the world I came back

A thing that fills every empty rack

Clears the way as a storm

Gives the tender like your mom.