Blue black, the red sun
breaks into your eyes. I go crazy
running after doves.
The lake goes on fire
I collect the shells. Luxury
of becoming poor.
Carpenter will do his
job now. Declines to sit,
carves a goddess.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: November 16th, 2021 21:08
- Category: Nature
- Views: 22
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.