It will be

It will be a hundred years ago,
tomorrow when the tree
that grows out of my window
finally bursts
into its bloom.

So many a winter have passed,
it makes me weary to think
of all that comes to the mind
when I look at the smooth bark.

Let me drown the lilies
and set the plumes of gold
to dry upon this forgetful wind,
they are on fire.


Holly said...

very intriguing.

Sagar Kolte said...

Holly~thanks. :)


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