Unwilling Treasure Poem by Ahatisham Alam
Unwilling Treasure
On the bed of the ground,
Was he by me found,
His lips are still
His eyes that sound.
Yeah! these pains are pleasure
That unwilling we treasure.
Joys are temporal
By life it is measured.
Saturday, October 18, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: art
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4/23/2024 3:16:22 PM # 1.0.0.1119
