Butter thief

 

The very minute leaves us befuddled
When a dark blue Krishna bewitches
From whichever side we meet his eyes
He is perfectly rounded, hunched up,
Confusing why he steals a butter cup.

It is a mouth open with clods of mud
Like 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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