The grandma, the aged and ailing grandma
But cheerful always
When she sees the little children
Of her near and dear ones
In such good friendships.
The little girl the good friend
Asks a tricky question
Grandma, are you fond of beauty parlor?
To make your grayish hair in such beauty
The silver hair in such polished color.
An innocent question it was
The little one's mind in such clarity
Where no place to tricky questions
In fact it was a genuine question she asked.
She smiled with the same emotion
And told the little one in truth
I had having such a bright and long hair
In my youthful period it was black
And in this old age it became grayish
A natural phenomenon indeed
Where in creation no place for a beauty parlor
All creations consists of beauty, the wise thinks.
Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wise-6/
