Poets, pipers, players, jesters,
Or what so ever name they get,
In truth they are children of freedom,
With Exotic fire been beget,
Fed with perennial springs of reason,
Wise and independent in religion,
The kites flown for noble aim,
With mystic life and subtle flame,
Grand mind with majestic thoughts,
Weaving beauty with magical cords,
Butterflies flying with wings of love,
Blooming innocents flowers of earth,
With transparent wings they travel,
Spreading message of love and pleasure,
They carry profound untainted smile,
Like books filled with words divine,
Give them name whatever you desire,
But they are men of divine attire…..
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