The village brook, so clear and arcane,
Flows gently through the fields of sugarcane.
It dances merrily, as it meanders along,
As it flows the whole day long.
Under the trees that line its vista,
Lies a dreary buffalo, enjoying his siesta
The Jasmines that bloom in March,
Indeed make an olfactory splurge.
The fish that swim beneath the waves,
Are free to roam the watery caves.
Until the canny Kingfisher swoops down,
To pick up her meal and heads uptown.
The country brook, it knows no bounds,
It flows from hills to meadows brown.
A gift from nature, like the child's ferver
A blessing for all, a joy forever.
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