Mud and stars

This very minute leaves us befuddled
When a little dark Krishna bewitches,
From whichever side we meet his eyes.
He is perfectly rounded, gathered up,
Confusing why he will steal butter up.

Actually who wants to steal butter up.
It is a mouth open with clods of mud
And the stars over our walking heads
And mother is angry in open mouth
And we are in a state and bewildered.

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