I am not born to be a poet,I am sorrry,        this is what you should never say,     

just open the window,                                   and peep out to hear           

the wind is singing lullaby,                           to trees and creepers alike                

and putting them to sleep.

And look at the rebel bud ,                            whose green cap is blowwn away    

and who bashfully reveals,                           her facef ull of beauty.               

And seeingall these miracles,                        don’t you change your harsh mind,    

and think at least for a moment,                  of making a poem,O’mankind?

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