The Last Drop

-Tariqul Islam Siam

Smiling sun takes its shades,

With misty cloud it veils;

Wind starts to play,

Dim becomes its ray;

Leaves rejoice embracing the drop,

Feels like the Clouds sob;

O Rain, why sadness feels so soft,

Winter peeks, old man coughs;

Might I be the last drop?

Before you harvest your crop;

Come o Winter, my end is nigh,

Say to my cry, a final Goodbye...