Morning Star Poem by Saritha Lakshmi R

At times, her poetry resembles that of Neruda
With a load of love gamas.
In fact, at some point, Keats has instilled
An eternal beauty in her verses.
Never, Dryden has slipped from her hands into
The garbage of scrambled papers.
Her fingers dolefully moved
Along with the saddest tone played by Milton.
Her hands gently waved over
The course of nature like Wordsworth did.
And her poems smiled like the morning star.