like the small flowers

Like the small flowers of green thick hills 
With fragrance, did her words; bloom 
Wild yet passionate in love, are the tribal's 
So was hers, for them and theirs 

Sad was her heart, at the jungle's ruin 
Starved was her pen, of any words 
To the children, she lent a voice, therein 
To save the jungle, her poetry and birds 

While planting seeds, with hope they croon 
Cast your magic, of life, dearest monsoon 
As the clouds poured, and lent some life 
To life, the jungle sprang, and they all sang 

Like the mother herself, she nursed and cared 
Days later, the deers came smiling 
For lifetimes, shall the tribals sing, her praise 
Her story of life, her pen; still flowing.