On an old tree of sycamore Two doves dialogue in Baltimore With an aero-dynamic marvel he survives the trial The freezing polar cold for a kiss in equatorial He lures, how pure not sure His pressure won her pleasure As she succumbed to a therapeutic force called love A passionate daintiest dove The moon set the honey on a journey A nine-month nostalgia, lonely honey He clung to a flimsy excuse in search of money Abandoned home alone, a stationary drive In a twinkle appears a world A replica and a perfect resemblance Without mincing, void of doubt She is a tool from the tool In a twinkle an egg now lays The sycamore dove now a grandma The baby christening her baby Sooner than later she will be a lady Energy waning like the moon Beauty dwindling down the drain Ageless aging wrinkles scare Rickety bones feeble stare A time to born, a time to burn A time of glow, a time of old We shine like gold, we shrink and fold Nature’s disaster a fate of all