Author A. K. Ramanujan Purananuru 248 The little white lilies, poor things, gave me tender leaf to wear, when I was young. Now, my great husband is dead, I eat at untimely evening hours and the lilies give me lily seed, a widow's rice. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 5 (1 vote) Rate Log in or register to post comments