Summer shine in walks of roads,
As I glance across those panes,
Ink, and paints and hence the muse,
Indulged in fabrication of the art along.
Waved those glassy eyes together,
Or was the glass which dazzled?
Shy and smile masked it all,
Or was that the love, sober?
Smile did cross those innocent coat,
And eyes did greet from the distance,
Ah ! What makes the world crude to him,
As, love blushed only for the art around.
Love was crafted, one to him and for him,
Words spilled, some with him and for him,
Fairing his love to him with all my love to him,
I glanced back onto those glassy roads, again.