Gems In The Bogs
In bright and shimmering waters fine,
Painting graphic pictures in artistic minds,
The slender necked lotus profusely grows
When the sunlight its warm light throws.
In rosy red hue and pilgrim's white,
In all its splendour unfolds in the light,
Gracing the waters of the exotic tropics,
Historic books have described you in epics.
The dew drops upon the velvety petals
With lustre like diamonds in the morning light,
Moved by this spectacle the sunlight settles
To kiss every dewdrop in religious rite.
Between the two, that's white and red
Blooms sitting quietly upon a liquid bed,
The saintly white lotus reigns supreme,
Tempting gentle breezes to caress the queen.
From the miry earth springing up in white,
Spotless and chaste in the morning light,
An unblemished bride in pure white lace
Couldn't compare with the lotus' grace.
Conceived in the bogs and nourished by dirt,
How is it possible in snow white to be gird?
It's in the bogs that precious gems grow,
As genius lurks often within poverty's door.