Like An Old Song

satishverma

Walking in mental 
fog, you become 
a swaying tree. 

In mistiness 
one becomes lonely 
like a blackbird. 

Hollyhocks 
would wait, till 
the sun comes out. 

December rain 
brings the gift― 
of sleet on lips.

  • Author: satishverma (Offline Offline)
  • Published: May 5th, 2019 20:14
  • Category: Nature
  • Views: 7
  • Users favorite of this poem: Laura🌻
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