The old lady

She is there carrying the woods In the dawn morning, stepping her foots The cool breeze teases her, Tries to touch her, move her hair, Comes close to her, she is helpless The bright yellow rays fall to her, And she looks like a queen quite a bit fair, Early the cocks say kukuduku there, And she knows, its the time to be there, Moving ahead there highs and lows, In those narrow roads, her destiny blows, For happiness of having a pen to write by his son, She passed the big and small wide and narrow bourn, And to feel the joy of his son, She saves the logs, doesnot let it burn, Her man says her " ur sons desire is growing" She sees those happiness in those yellow coins, The story from far nepal, far mountains and big hills, You just cant imagine what happiness 10 rupees feels, Every night she sleeps, she imagines of those logs, Wont they be destroyed by those early fogs?? Hurts and wounds just actually dont give a pain, Pain feels to see the big pockets with all empty drain, All the steps for carrying the logs, passing the fogs, Barking of dogs, croaking of frogs, having the fear to be stuck in those bogs She still passes and passes for the happiness of her son.