Not least in vain words mine eye,
a handful of star-dust gather;
nor what by folly's fake
from a fumbled mouth hath spilled,
but what great many poets
have always longed for,
and o'er the years unearthed,
a sensual fault in a line or two,
upon a fertile land of fairies,
by buds grow and die;
before their pen hath writ,
this dream I send your way,
that you may see the world,
not built in a day,
which you have packed by night,
thrice, thrice with holy dread!
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2013.
All Rights Reserved.
Date: Saturday, January 19,2013 3: 00: 27 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem