like a chopin
amidst grey mist sad
your redness spread
a contrast
full of life
a blooming thing...
its march
and the sky is still wintry
the air is still cold and dry
and your petals unfold
moist soft dream like
as if beads of hope and beauty
weave stories on you
though the mist and the uncanny fog
makes one confused-is it winter
or spring?
why dew drops fall?
why this slight shiver?
why nocturne in c sharp minor?
No comments:
Post a Comment