Gone are the days, when kids played with the wind,
One the king of Mysore , the other from sind.
Their sticks did meet , not once or twice,
Saddled on the sturdy ones ,
If couldn't keep up , alienated was he ; like the one with lice.
Or building a shack, within the thicket,
While choosing the roles; they caused a racket.
Fought till someone's mum did reckon;
Dragged away, for a minute or two ; their cries did soar.
Next day when came they; for more,
Found the roof caved in.
Calling the guy, supposedly on watch lame;
They went on to play another game.