The Morn Dew Drops

The morn dew drops
On the grass, the very
Sign of tears from the
Dawn

That spins in the
Nature of the heart
and then man
From ages together

My mother says
Slap on the wrist
Is the secret of nature?
To the one who is born?

She says, this silent
Language exists
Between mother and son
No one knows the art
Of it.

This art forever shines
in one soul
Oh , My mother
now I know the dew
drops of morn