Why like me little Lamb and my sweetheart?
Why choose me of all persons that you saw?
Why love me for my versifying art?
Why follow me with mind and soul in awe?
The things I do, I know not why I do;
The things I write are not wholly from me;
‘This world’s unfair’-a truth, I say to you;
And Maker’s love keeps all alive truly.
Why talk to me when just a Bard I am?
Why honour me when world has not known me?
Why take to me when horse I’m not, just Ram?
I write because God gave me Poetry.
‘Tis sad the world cares not for Poets much;
And yet, their words are wise with magic-touch.
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