You own the world in your feet,
I'll largesse you when we meet;
You blossom from a fruit,
Oh! well, nature you beaut;
You pin fragrance in my nose,
When the delicate wind blows;
I go mad when I see you,
My darling wants you in blue,
I don't utter red is low,
But, Why can't you bloom blue?
- Archana Natarajan