Hungry, thirsty and weary,
Steps away, Just a quarter furlong away.
I sight the island, with flowing streams and lush greens,
Eager to soak in the cold flow
of the stream and recline in the tranquil green grass,
I go a step ahead, but stall.
I fear the island is a mirage
If I step too close, it might vanish.
I stay back, thirsty, not to lose sight of it.