Ballads!

On bag packing.

Over the mountaineous roads and the crimson stoves in the sky, The travellers walk parallel to the breeze, Their cherishing - enlivened times. They are wary of what occurs to them, Yet they are hopeful to let it be, hem. For, no forlorn footstep awry, Could harm their conviction, their glory, They roam like a bird across, The world that's moving gross.

To let this world be, Small enough for themselves, To let the love assemble, In every bit of the happening quarters, Or the one that's lonely.

Dreams are brought, Affectionate memories sought, To entertain their lives once, It's done, when they say life has but been, They are the one's wishful, To say, they have but lived, Across the seas and heard the meaningful chorus, That envisages, Around the world; Now, be it a mountaineous block, Or the pleasant nature over the seas.

Books gloved!

Library of the personages, Dustier, mockier slips the tame. They walk with bylanes, Of bookland, cold and pale.

Roads boycott, they say; are they alive, While reading, they lose themselves, into the dramatic vibes. The Nature to them is a singer, The charm is totally a humble mover, For them to walk past the memorables, The past linguistics and trembles, Be those the war or sustenance records, Well known convictions, or the further anecdotes, Sing-song the maladies of the past broken stalls, To light their own lamp of significance, To bring some colour to the darkness, Meaning and significance, The world is a magic box, We being, it's inhabitants.

The Reader furthers the pages, One day eventually, To only lead to his story, Over the pages, the Wisdom enriched foray.