Every son that’s risen, sets
Every fruit that’s ripe , dries
Every soul that’s born, dies..
Laughter becomes a little tougher
Compassion becomes a little harder
Life becomes a little rougher
Some faces are hard to forget
Some memories are hard to part with
Some lives are hard to let go..
May be that’s what you call, love
Rest In Peace , Pootha!
In blissful peace, you Live..