The Daughter of Mother Nature

Who brings delicate fragrance

Of sweet strange feral blossom?

Who whispers in my ear

Pretty music of the folk?

Who runs around the field

Of yellow grains, all set to crop

In wild ecstasy and joy?

Who chats with those birds

Of pretty song and vibrant paint?

Who plays with the clouds

Above the sapphire, pleasant sky?

Who gives joy for the school kids

In pretty and comic morning

Prattling along the lane,

Covering grass with small buds?

Who dances with coconut trees

Over the hills, touching clouds?

Who sweeps the dead mango leaves

Down the road, filled in dust?

Who washes out the sweat

Of workers’ row in the field

In searing but pleasant sunshine

Haste in reaping golden pick?

It is she; the trekker from the West

The marvelous lass of mountains.

Oh! Pretty daughter of Mother Nature,

Hail to thee! My sweet wind!