A sequestered
abode of 'who' is being solicited,
In
midst of Jungle where NO dialect settled or enwreathed it;
Except
the silence of One who perpetually went,
With
wand in hand & only Few moments used to spent,
But
never a day missed whether in storm, light or mist;
Or
in Sulking Dark Night when Hunters roared,
To
show indignation, not submission or to solicit.
Though
Others wouldn't have followed such steps,
That
would be against principles - to unfold resentment;
Whoever
approached, approached in the clear skies,
And
returned post submissions or with gracious thanks.
Noticing
this act & actions perdurable times,
Conduced
this wasn't to disturb peace with chimes;
But
to invoke the presence and mere to beseech,
That
'individuated' his submissions and rhymes :)