The address was wrong,
To apprehensive receivers,
There was no joy, no song.
The wait was long, the other side,
The search was getting intense,
A silent cry for the lost parcel,
Lurked in the emptiness.
The one who dwells up above,
The sender, the mischief-maker,
Moved by the apparent plight of both sides,
Realized the joke has gone too far.
So he set out in full vigour,
To correct everything that went wrong,
He even sent down a few angels to help,
So that it doesn't take too long.
Everything fell into place after that,
And the rest is forgotten history,
I search my baby's eyes each day,
No mistakes, she's been sent just for me.
© 2009 Rituparna Das
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