Poem by Sehma Helaa

Poem by Sehma Helaa
when the heat creeps
And the rills run dry,
I yearn for the last drips
Me, little bird of the sky
For water is the quintessence of life
And when it is scorching,
To be or not to be that’s a mere strife
I beg thee, a wise creature of God
Think of me, Think of the other roaming animals
Envelope your mercy and get rid of your quills
Drop a bowl here, a bucket there
Provide water everywhere
It costs nought to be clement
An engaged thought to cement
Bleeding souls and thirsty bodies
can only survive with charitable ecstasies
Hand in hand you save the little bird
with that drop, rekindle the hope of he who is nearly dead;
Sehma Helaa ( on behalf of thirsty birds )

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