My dear Saint Patrick could you wait awhile?
The priest in his purple stole is running a country mile
When he gets he won’t waste time on ordinary talk
That’s something to be had on any other block
Coming for darsana and there isn’t much time left on the clock
Leis of roses, mums and others along with leaves
Sway along the chodders and skirt that float on the breeze as they dance in kirtan
Off to Mahamuni’s post bax and the snob hill through the village and the point of the hook after respecting the ratha-bhajana-vrksa. The cruisers are in force along with the mountain men in the hills near the university. Between the lakes the bon fires are being set up for a chilly night. The cruisers have jackets and hats while the teams have their booties over their shoes. The gecko and I are dressed as if it were still summer. As the sun begins to set the gecko takes his leave to tend to the shop and I fly down the east cliff trying to make the wharf road and then the long and winding one. The ratha-bhojana-vrksa sees my folded palms and the kalarupa reminds me there are only ten minutes before the sandhya.
Even though Guru-Gauranga Gandharvika-Giridhari are wearing their deep within the far off jungle nightdress they have decided to stay inside.