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!
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