Worth of his every Sweat.
Samir Gurung
His daily starts in a dewy morning, just when the fiery ball awakens, Sometime he is young with a black hair and sometime he is old with wrinkles on his smiling face, His skins have became pale brown but the moorland and the slopes desire his presence, He walks with a broad shoulder, with a passion, His simplicity is so high even the bird loves his innocence and begins to tune, SIGN UP! For your insightful articles. When he gets seared, the cold gust of wind from the heels refreshes him, When he gets parched, the river from the mountains clears his thirst All those sweat fall like the rain and vanish beneath, The cattle look at him and his dripping sweat, They wonder why he pushes himself so hard, when he can sing and play.
