When all else fades away from thy unweird eye,
And not a shadow less to my eyes so blind;
Of ages that are dead by what I write,
Unaccounted for love of thy most high deserts,
This world that shows not half thy part;
Oft pays homage to the setting sun
Under the hedgerow of a cottage-tree,
That through e'ery pouring shadow where least I find,
More is less than what to my mind still
Of another rent at midnight lease in waking hour.
(C) Naveed Khalid
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All Rights Reserved.
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