Shutting down the
windows, and let them
weep in rains.
A silver moon was
feet away, pleading
to be called innocent.
Something was left
after the sundown.
Where do we meet after
the journey's end?
Again my eyes
were wet after your
serene silence.
The call of the lake
was very strong.
I move, then stop
and look back.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: September 10th, 2020 19:26
- Category: Nature
- Views: 11
- User favorite of this poem: Trenz Pruca.
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