O brownie sparrow small,
Thou fly with harvested dust,
Aware thou become of nest’s call,
Her beak pants there with maternal trust.
Collect thou grains lost,
Noon time numbing heat; feathers beat
Upon peasant’s toil; now thy host,
Thy valiant jumps and crafty feat.
Sun-baked grains hardest,
Still, thou cut with cordial chutts,
Sawed Shakti makes thee worthiest;
Kitchen, water and eatable nuts.
Over parched terrain thou dart alone,
Agile, vibrant more, despite water gone.
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