Off in the forest of Vrndavan
Lived a community of cowherd men
They may never have learned the Vedas so well
But the leader of the girls was so punctual she was there with a bell
They’d churn the milk to butter and turn some into cheese
When Krsna plays his flute they’d come around with bells on to do whatever he please
Flowers from all over the asrama’s land gave the leis their own special brand
The gecko and I make the ratha-bhojana-vrksa bowing our heads and sprint on by the whalers and through the triangle past Saint Dagwood’s park to seeing the morning’s stars. After darsana we turned and circled the old trader’s. As we come to the go light one of the beasts cuts in front of me I bounce off the beast and some how find a way onto the sidewalk and then an exit ramp back to the peddler’s lane. At the next light “Good job staying up right” the gecko tells me. “I was lucky, thought I didn’t have a chance” I replied. Took the corner to the reviewing stand through the triangle and took leave. I went on to the harbor and between the lakes. Up to the windmill, it’s vacant now, to the trail along the beach to the wharf road, stopping to get Mahamuni’s post. On the wharf road the soccer pitch is on the left and I continue to the long and winding where the ratha-bhojana-vrksa is waiting. The kalarupa drags me to the asrama and the sandhya
Bhakta Blade put in a rare Thursday night appearance. He is pleased saying that Gandharvika’s clothes co operated with him this evening. I wipe the floor and shut the light to let them begin their pastimes of the night