Keeping A Promise On A March Afternoon

Each clay model was fast asleep Frozen in slumber deep But I had a promise to keep. My doll I promised would have her say And on this summer day Her I mustn’t fail. She had to have a clay model. There wasn’t a thing wasn’t there Men, women, birds and even a curd seller Bald Brahmin, English pair Village belle in flowing hair Men flirtatious, women loose At small price pick and choose. Lost in the potter’s terrain She was back a child again The afternoon was almost spent When ended her playful moments. I picked the fortune teller She chose the curd seller. On the way what I had to say Hope she remembers till last day At the potter’s having seen them all Found none crafted like my lovely doll.