An ode to Sandhu
She's the girl with a hint of sandy gold in her hair.
The one with hardly any airs.
She's someone you can depend on.
Through thick, through thin and when everyone's gone.
She could have been Mary, She could have been Alice.
But she’s Sandhu and she’s without any malice.
And if you’re wondering where this poem is going.
Join the club, because that’s what even I’m doing.
Happy Birthday dearest Sandhu.
From the man in the corner, another dear bandhu.
No comments:
Post a Comment