Love of pure heart full of lovely things,
that abound by thee alone,
behind the corner of that street
a man to meet of soaring thumb impressions,
that in solemn strain this dull rhyme,
goes soaring high above the dale with pen-pricked angels,
above a firehurst, o'er the wall on high,
a skylark to heaven sings:
makes beauteous my nights in full bright summer,
ah, but to debarr at heaven's gate of red-linen, my bride,
her beauty's belligerent smile in sneer of cold command
of my darkened days ere thine unweird eyen.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Tuesday, July 28,2015 5: 16: 58 PM
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