The dream death;
while birthing a─
poem, weeping
between the lines.
Why do you grieve
for the old year?
The moon will again─
rise and you can
pick up the black
roses for the baby dawn.
Waging your war till
eternity, you can kiss
the red lips of morning
sun. I welcome you,
new year, in my tattered
clothes and golden heart.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: October 1st, 2017 00:15
- Category: Nature
- Views: 7
Offline)
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