The little girl

The little girl

She is little but not little
In the mind and inner feeling,
She has outside vision of truth
She never tells lies not in the body;
But on the whole shape as if to grow.
She is little in size but not true
In the food and gossiping
she remains immature.
Like a flower in May blossomed
In the morning and dusk to show.
Her mode of attitudes and life
She has ugly face like the ghostly
Spirit of unusual flame in the dark.
In the  day light during cloudy and moisture
To have means to stay even place
Where humans can never survive.
But her love remains unfinished with joyous
And in the streams of river on the side-way
Underneath the castles dilapidated eden
Not being punctual  on the death traps.
Like the Philippic even in the dark Datang
To pass along into the silent world.