A moth clips the red
flame to become the martyr
of the fading moon.
In limitless sky
you fly low to catch my poem
to pay back your debt.
There was no mooring
of the lost boat in ocean
of burning tears.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: December 29th, 2020 20:44
- Category: Nature
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: A Boy With Roses
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