The old bus gallops on the road,
Speeds through irrespective of the heavy load;
My head out of the window, searching for that chilly breeze,
The dynamic creation of God makes me readily freeze.
The bus moves on and on, so do my eyes,
For what I see and enjoy, nobody can pay the price;
First the tall grass, wearing a lush and green outfit,
Then the never drooping old trees have my eyes lit.
The maiden I see retain their natural God given beauty,
They work sincerely on the fields, being the synonym of duty;
The colourful birds try to compete with this old bus,
As I see cows munching grass without any fuss.
The bus floats now, so do I seeing the beautiful lakes,
To enhance my treat, the rain comes down as icy flakes.
Not to leave behind, those huge fiery rocky hills,
And those colourful sweet scented flowers, your heart really spills.
That the bus has started to roll on its wheels is a thing of the past,
The destination to be reached is what matters last;
Life is like a bus, which moves towards its course,
Goes on and on bearing all odds of the natural force.