Buttons, Buttons Poem by Naveed Khalid

O ye speak not unto me of days that are gone
in silent hours of soliloquy,
no heart can afford from off thy ancient lyre
these yellow-pages of history to e'ery pelted grave
against the harvest moon my shipwrecked dreams,
of untread places far-off beyond the sunrise,
still on wings, on wings o'er the dale
that star of thy most high deserts upon the sand dunes:
at sunset of the evening sky to e'er melting snow;
I could see them play a hunch for the parade ere thine unweird eyen,
while all that is writ in thy graceful ease of beauty's looks
that bewailing night asleep to becharm the skies.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Tuesday, November 03,2015 2: 51: 57 PM