The full moon was
rising. November nght.
I throw away my walking stick.
*
A shiver runs
through my thoughts.
I had lost you in the thick fog.
*
The large fig tree.
Had not tied the black thread
round the big trunk?
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: July 22nd, 2017 22:45
- Category: Nature
- Views: 6
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.