It was a fine day!
Bright, but not too hot;
Sitting by the window at school,
I was listening to what the teacher taught.

She was explaining a poetry,
In which I was completely immersed
When suddenly I was stirred up
By a sweet voice that I heard.

It came from the trees nearby,
Soft and gentle, delightful and gay;
Made by perhaps, a beautiful, little bird,
By whose sweetness, I was carried away.

I hadn’t seen the bird,
I hadn’t heard it before.
But, as it continued to sing,
It grew dearer, more and more.

I forgot the poetry
And was drawn by that winsome sound.
I gazed at the trees to see it;
But for the teacher, I could have found.

After some time, it stopped;
The little bird probably, had gone away.
How I wished to hear it, see it!
And I yearningly wait for it every moment, every day.