The clatter of your feet,
I long to hear,
The fragrance, when you speak,
I hold so dear.
The flickering lamp,
awaits a reason,
to flicker a moment more,
darker than the cloud of the season.
He knows the battle lost,
Upon the rotting graves,
of the fagrance in the frost,
of these private caves.
8 comments:
first and last stanza have a nice flow.
oscar~thanks, Though they, in my opinion are less creative than the second. :-)
Nicely written, Sagar.
fingers~honoured. :-)
true, and therefore i guess u passed the second.
oscar~certainly. :-)
Nice... Very nice! :)
supriya~thanks
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