All is quiet, all is bright.

Hark, hark, the birds are back

in coats of different plumes 

chirping, squacking, humming 

calling to their mates. 

The labour class is passing by

singing a lilting mood.

All is quiet, all is bright 

in the town nearby. 

The passers are walking by

in their silence and songs

their mobiles fixed in their ears 

touching an illusive world. 

The trees and buildings stand 

witness to the scene 

wondering at this caravan 

not understanding this piture

of wonderland. 

Hark, hark the gypsies are

back again with their 

pots and pans, 

seeking a shady grove to rest 

their tired backs. 

Others follow in their wake 

leading the camels slowly

their back packs fully loaded 

while others follow slowly. 

The women under the 

ample tree preparing for 

the meal, while men are 

tending to the babies. 

All is quiet, all is bright, 

till the sun sets in the west, 

it's sleeping time by now 

the world slumbers 

at peace and rest.