O, how mellow the reverberations

Of the words that pierce the heart

When, the Tongue, all sweet and suave

Gently, plays its given part.

No nicer perfume, no gentler scent

Than the whiffs of those lovely words,

That the silent beauty of the morning

Break, like the chirping of those little birds.

Such is Love, all mushed- up

The tongue its helpless creature,

At its mercy, beck and call

No nicer emotion, no greater caring human feature,

‘Cause, the tyrant in the game of life

Is the ever- whizzing Brain,

That awakens the Devil who sleeps within

And, launches his disastrous train.

Day, turns to night and gently so

Its garb lined with stars,

The tongue, too, has similar bearing

Soft as the Moon and fiery as is Mars

And, when the tongue turns rapier-like

With cuts and bruises all around

Then, no battle-field did ever witness

The ferocity of that lashing sound.

It twists and turns like a river’s bends

Its wrath a rage, its calm supreme,

 Its power of play,

Both a nightmare and an idyllic dream.

So, perhaps, best to keep the mouth shut

 Till, you fall in love,

Then let your

Tongue do its work

As you walk, hand in glove.

Note:

All material in this product is the intellectual property of Ashok Sawhny and 

The author is always open to proposals and can be contacted via www.ashoksawhny.com