A long night-
unending was,
the wait for the sickle moon.
Midnight,
shooting stars-
you are still breathing?
Doleful cry-
of the crickets. Why
the rain has stopped?
I was talking-
to the clouds
for a favor.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: September 10th, 2018 20:40
- Category: Nature
- Views: 5
Offline)
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