When I spoke to the sun.
The heat sounded soft spoken.
When I wrote to the moon.
The darkness was wide and open.
When I walked with the rain.
The flow stepped in only to gain.
When I talked to the terrain.
The stillness had a slipping plane.
When I slept in the fountain.
The soul was in unison to restrain.
When I ran on the mountain.
The life looked at, ready to explain.
©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/