The Prize Winner
Under a street lamp post a beggar reads an old paper in the dim light.
And he showed me a page while I was passing him.
It's an obituary notice with a photograph.
'Papa! Who is this? ' I asked.
Then he said; ' It's me child can't you see that gray beard?
And I won the prize, please take me to that drawing place if possible
And I promise you to give the half my son.'
All of a sudden a poem blooms in my unrest mind
And I scribbled on his paper.
* Let the tree grows in the hard soil
Until its last blossom
And pour much water
Then it gives you more fragrance.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Added by Poetry Lover
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