In a deserted house on the hill,
Upon a windowsill,
A little lamp was burning,
Its pale flame flickering,
On came the wind with all its might,
Trying to blow out the light,
But the remarkable little lamp,
Went on burning bright.
Beaten by the howling rain,
In the dark, frosty night,
The lamp put up a great fight,
Heed, dear friends,
Persevere till the end,
Fight all troubles with a will,
Like the mighty lamp on the hill.
…now that you’re here
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An ardent believer in that a good poem isn’t one that comes from, but through you, Pravin enjoys writing short but meaningful poetry. Write to him at firstname.lastname@example.org to know more about him.