Incense stick‘s dance.

Dawn of thy day when dew soaked sapling wagging its leaf,

Lawn of thy day when crew peeked blabbering raging its grief,

Mom’s hands lessened thy sense with holy incense.

Incense with its fragrance is bouncy with dance,

Incense with its exuberance is blowy with freelance.

With the misty aroma entwined in graceful moves,

And dusty panorama engulfed with merciful droves,

The innocent incense gambled with the fairy air.

Moments of rejoice of incense’s muses,

Laments of empathize of incense’s refuses,

Drove to an end with its last whiff of harmonious hazy fragrance it aired around.