It was dark late one evening.
Fisher folks a few were returning.
Their fish products after selling
With their money bags swelling.
They took shelter in a garden,
Relieved from the day’s burden,
To spend the night sound and safe
From any possible waylaying thief.
They were deeply perturbed,
As their sleep was disturbed,
By the sweet smell of flowers,
Which fell on them like showers.
The empty baskets near their nose,
They brought them very close.
In the stinking fish smell,
By habit, they slept quite well.
Likewise, there’re diehards,
Like smokers and drunkards,
Who can’t mend their ways,
By the force of habit for days.