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Home, Sweet Home!
This is my home where I feel
The Divine presence  every day!
It is  in the silent, subtle things:
The twinkle of my dad’s eye,
Which speaks volumes wordlessly
Of his love affair With my mother
Still stoked with love and passion.
Even after the silver jubilee
 Of their marriage celebrated recently.
It is in the gifts culled with loving hands
Which my mom gives me now and then
That nourish my spirit, flesh and soul.

It rises in the scent of delicious dishes
 Prepared by her, And also
In that extra slab of cheese
Which my dad puts on my plate.
It’s in the knowledge that each word  spoken here
 Is from the heart,honest and true ,
Oh, this is the love that is enduring,
Without any bounds or reservation,
And never an act of show.
It’s giving for the sake of giving
With no expectation but the joy of sharing,
And the delight of the imparting.
In all things, both big and small
Mutual love abounds all!

-Portia Burton


Come, My angel!

Come, My Angel!
(this poem was written in a very gloomy mood some time back)


On Looking Out Of The Window

On Looking Out Of The Window

How I relish the leisurely walks taken
Around my granny's Grasmere village
On the misty mornings of the summer
Since they bring a smile to my lips
 And also fill me with  serious  thoughts.
I don't know why such thoughts come ,
Perhaps it's that solemn old cathedral
And the  grave of  poet Wordsworth  there,
Along with the memories of his poems
That lead me to muse about the Time's fell hand.
But when I return home in pensive mood
And wistfully look out of the  window
On these mysterious grey  mornings,
I suddenly find it to be an enchanting view..
The  inky black trees clothed in misty dew,
And suddenly two doves newly woke up
Perch on the window and look at me,
As if to beckon me to venture outside
And shake away that depressing gloom
By inhaling the fragrance of flowers in bloom.

-Portia Burton