We ran so fast
by a muzzling road
to Doddabetta,
the highest peak of Nilgiris.

The tallest peaks
turned to take a peep
at our boys ascending the hills
like the mounting clouds.

“Hey, our boys move and dance,
clap their hands and sing lovely songs;
catch the passing clouds in their palms,
fling themselves on the way
and into the world entrancing”.

We were looting at noon
the Ooty apples
and tootling into the sylvan glades
of the Botanical Gardens.

Oh, our boys in motor-boats
gore through the shining lake
in the midst of green vales around.
They go and go deep
into the far end of life
Where the angels drizzle
with their haply drops of tears.