India is a patch-work, of every single hue, <br />Vibrant reds and ochres, and pensive shades of blue; <br /> <br />Skeins of gold light up the sky, when the sun wakes up each morn, <br />The heavens weave a tapestry, of a glittering brand new dawn; <br /> <br />Gilded pink and shimmering peach, the clouds weave in their lace, <br />India is spun golden, in the sun's new morning rays; <br /> <br />At noon the sun is up and bright, the ocean is sun kist; <br />Villages and towns bask in, a gilt-edged white hot mist; <br /> <br />Paddy fields and valleys, reflect the golden green, <br />While ribbons of grey roads, mere wisps of silvery sheen; <br /> <br />As twilight spins her burnished spool, on the fabric whirling high, <br />A dusky lilac, wine red sky, breathes out a drawn out sigh; <br /> <br />As night enfolds my country, with her quilt of deep, dark blue, <br />The Master weaver gently smiles, from His vantage point of view.<br /><br />Roann Mendriq<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/country-quilt/
