The wayfarer, searching
for the leaf-pains―
fallen from the lone tree.
Some holy script will
tell the angst of the sap,
which would not reach the roots.
A responsible weep,
will divulge your name to―
forest bees, waiting for the moon.
I watch the setting sun
with trepidation.
Night will bring again, the blasts.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: June 5th, 2018 00:08
- Category: Nature
- Views: 42
- Users favorite of this poem: Laura🌻, Lorna.
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Comments2
Sadly...the truth!
I found this to hold a deep sadness.........
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