In a frame of a―
window, I watch
daily, a saddest,
star, and a palm
holding the clouds
like an Atlas.
No winds. The
bougainvillea still
drops the colored bracts―
in wait of moon―
unheeding the advice
of bright sun.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: December 23rd, 2018 19:09
- Category: Nature
- Views: 113
- Users favorite of this poem: Laura🌻, LIGHT WARRIOR
Offline)
Comments1
Excellent!
The passage of time is constant!
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.