I offer up this poem like a symbolic wreath,
To that hero whose disposition always in peace.
Many portraits of him have been painted,
With the different scenes I am acquainted.
In some a mountain in his hand he does hold,
While in others he flies through the sky so bold.
In rage he set fire to the city of Lanka,
For her king had sinned against the beloved Sita.
Yet of all his images I like one particular pose,
Where he sits peacefully, looking beautiful like a rose.
Day after day names of Sita and Rama he chants,
The kindest of sweethearts, forget him I can’t.
Of Shri Rama my dear Hanuman always thinks,
May I honor him who to Rama’s kingdom is the link.