![[Birds, falling leaves outside window]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_suN_gnZf_zyLqL04MSsqapbMrifHi8sajhazy-nwEdnYTkTeZvJTIE8l7X4ztWnHDu_xuraCRLNaTkIH6-P1aTrvn6MADghAFUj-Cntxub=s0-d)
It's my favoriate poem by Rabindranath Tagore:
"STRAY birds of summer come to my
window to sing and fly away.
And yellow leaves of autumn, which
have no songs, flutter and fall there
with a sigh."
Tagore sees songs as a present, a offering.
I see them this way,too
The leaves are disappointed by the fact that they can't sing to the writer.
The most beatiful thing one can offer is a song...
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