On nice winter days,
A walk through is interesting to take.
He still stands like a hay,
Like an attraction on your way.
You thought he’s like a tare in your field,
Never noticed his priceless yield.
Those lil silver spikes and smiles.
Didn’t worked for your walk of miles.
You thought he’s the chaff of your dense.
He feels himself like your field’s fence.
Those discerning long, sleek and satiny stalks,
Didn’t matched with your flock.
To pleasure you with soothing evening fun,
He bears from dawning to ending strikes of the sun.
We grow together, still you can’t read?
Fine, I thing am not your winter weed.
– Yash Mainali