The Lot

It was just a lot, engulfed in thickets,

Thorns and what not.

The soil was fertile, water streamed downhill.

The land could have yielded good crops,

Beautiful flowers,  like daffodil and buttercup.

It went on flames once,

All the stubborn thorns

And bushes burned to the ground.

Smoke billowed before the eye of creatures,

Everyone wondered what lies in its future.

Had it been tended to with love and care,

Is a mystery that only future can tell.

Tears poured from the eyes of heaven,

The flames died down, and ebbed until dawn.

In the morning beneath the bright sunlight,

The ground was covered with ashes,

There was no signs of life.

Mother Earth took the lot like a child in her lap,

And nurtured it with outpouring love.

It came back to life again, and withstood

The harshness of winter and summer.

Colorful leaves carpet the ground in fall,

Spring embellish it with resplendent


And display kaleidoscope of colors amongst

the green.

Loved and understood

By not so many of the multitudes,

This lot turned into a domain

Of silence, tranquility and solitude.

The sun and moon lights are it’s fortitude,

The clouds veil it from the human eye,

And delights when rain falls from the sky.

Underneath it is a chamber,

Where one may slumber forever.