No thought so insidious that to my mind still,
begets the wind of her apparels in spring,
half so off-hand at Minerva's golden brow,
of unhindered scope this world beside
at sunset of the evening sky,
hath love-sick thought on thee,
that crow's quill of my shipwrecked dreams;
that in the mellowing year to e'er melting snow,
needest no light in the backyard of my garden,
where e'ery flower upon a barren heath in worn-out time,
too but steals looks from my bed of crimson joy,
the bonanza of yore drifting dream amiss.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Tuesday, September 15,2015 6: 15: 56 PM
* Rewritten with readership of the mind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem