Afar in the East, across the abysmal misty rifts
The rustling, the chirrup, and the deep sighs of the breeze
All-together, they wake her up with the first flash of the beams
The White Witch gives a tender touch to the love-apple cheek of her dear daughter, as the first shaft of the biggest star barges into their shack. Helplessly, with the wheezing whiffs, the sweet zephyr slides in, and creates a rapturous scene. It swirls round, and round, and round, and sprinkles the tantalizing scent which she snitched from the garden of spring.
Following this recurring dream, every time a winsome smile as broad as barge crosses her face.
Oh! little-imp, wake up and take in
How dulcet the warble of the blue-jewel stream
Oh! little-imp, I brought you a chaplet and a beautiful toe-ring
The Widow-bird, an exotic friend for life, a harbinger, and an ally, singing this rhythm, only to adore the bonny daughter of her queen “White Witch”. The languor in the air slumps, as she gently opens her eyes. Widow-bird put the chaplet on her head, and gifts her the toe-ring,. “Oh! In awe she beams”.
All of the sudden, a swarm of radiant tiny bees break into their day-dream, humming, singing, and buzzing with every string. The tiny flies embellishes the attire of the little princess sheen, and bespeckles the entire shack nearly gleam, make it twinkle with every shade of tints. “Aha! Its really bewitching”, wondered Little Witch, as the magic is displayed by the eensy beans.
Eh? horde of itty-bityy mage, can you please break this maze?
I want to see what’s beyond the thick haze
How big the world, what’s hovering out there
Why I can’t just fly and savour the sky
Lend me your wings, I want everything
That’s hanging up there, can only be seen
The Little Witch moans, as she bangs on the door. “why I can’t just get through?” she sobbed. Seeing her blue, the Widow-bird gives her a tour. “What do you see?”, asked the bird, peeping out of the window. “It’s nothing but thick drizzly mist” replied Little Witch. “Open your arm, and blow with wind, sing out-loud”, said the log-tailed passerine.
The boscage, the bourn, the budlet and the bloom
Everything is there, it’s not just the brume
Abide your time, it ain’t tickling for you
“Abide my time”, repeated the Little Witch, surprised. “Yes my princess, abide your time”, emphasized the Widow-bird.
Amidst the sprawling hills
“Are you listening the warble of the thousands of rills?”
The peaks, the ridges, the chasms, and the cliffs
You will have everything whatsoever is your whim
But my princess, for the time being, its your abode, and I am always here to preen.
“where I am!”, asked little-imp.
“In the womb of the Great White Witch”, tweeted the tit.