My Boy Ryngkhlem


Small Nightingale on perch left desolates 
Upon whence in the midst viridity surrounded, Up high about heaven;
\"Poor bird, you looked careworn with your wings loosened and must \'em made you weaken.\"
Somewhere she glared at creations, then back to a complete calming again. 
Lo! They deserved not, though. Lucky me,
Fair shake gave to voice wobbles-
She sounds melody and harmony,
Yet tells the mystery of shortage against time.
Those eyes were what more
Would soon see much, all we won\'t. 
So could both alone pray for some heyday shall the heaviest catch up, come what may?
                                ----------- MB Ryngkhlem