Nov 1, 2003 | Braja Sevaki Devi Dasi, Poetry, Volume-37 Number-06
The Mayapur moon melts into day, trailing soft white mists whose edges burn as the day rises from the green waters of Jalangi. The moist air settles, softening the earth that cradles bare feet, cool and soothing. Temple bells ring; Madhava calls, His graceful form...
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