Plethoric Time

- Plethoric Time - The lost time is too heavy to bear with, on this tiny breast of my luxurious mind. The flowers and the butterflies in hurst, The thunderbolt and the raindrops that blow, Over the horizon from my small moist yard. The evening that dawned with rueful tune tired, people who quarrelled over a petty thing, With the set of the Sun and in bleak light, In peace nature throbbed with vigor and vim. The high pitched rave of the conch did break the woe. The dark world would revive with joyful sound. The thrilling darkness with furtive ripple, That would wash day's toil from heaven above. The breeze that would blow soothing the empty Tripe, Would dispose all the pain and sordidness. The time that was full of leanness and strain, The voice that lashed onto the sheath of being, Singing the song of excruciating pain, Now with affluence became the soul of being. The time that was gone into Naught ail me.