It Holds, Simply - Poem by Deb Panda

No more it holds love- simply,
Within a changing line of time,
It reaches down to earth and strongly-
Deep rooted gradually
To resist the cyclone.
I knew, no famine can strike-
Nor any insect can dare-
To pass beyond, to creep-
And leave their diabolic stray,
To be spoken-"
Or be it caught, with dupe.
O'muse when it reaches-
On Your land,
And all else be true,
Belongs to absolute degrees-
To sacred feelings-
When this land is crammed-
With strange feelings-
Often these thoughts are wedged,
There- in a land,
When I stepped first,
With love,
To a passing song of the Autumn;
Blooms, to be immortal-
As years and ages past.