Asking moon to
be mine at the time of
hyphens and the dots.
Of agony. Burn all
the pages of book. No
marigolds to toss.
The worn body wears
the cloak of yesteryears,
walking bare hands.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: February 19th, 2024 22:36
- Category: Nature
- Views: 1
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.