There is a tale of 3 idiots that flourished in a city,

Nobody of them became famous was their pity,

Many wanderers came and came many magicians,

Neither of them was able to carve their creations,

Lest they became grief-stricken and more edgy,

For the most of time their sadness turned cagy,

Had there been any kind of charmed glare of hope,

Because then only these days have gone to dope,

Into an awakening genre of creative zone of melody,

As time passes by into stillness and restricts every tragedy,

Where there were organizing summons and happy clauses,

Of every good deeds and non-anguish healthy causes,

So, in the end all three decided again to freely separate,

To become more independent with freedom to inculcate.