It is indeed Summer's own scent,
A riddle puckery sour and richly sweet,
A whisper that becomes ambient,
The herald of that most decadent treat.
Then, you picture the lineament,
The familial form of that fabled kind,
A holi of hues that is so radiant,
Oh, the vivid imaginings of your mind!
To resist would be to no avail,
Why not trace the scent to its source?
And so you set out on its trail,
No more than an eager trot indoors!
What to look for, you do know:
A sunset streaking across a deep green;
It's no fruit, the Raspuri Mango,
It's a loving gift Spring hides in the scene!
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