Morning Hour Poem by Satish Verma
Morning Hour
The grass clings
to earth―
for a feel of mother.
A tall conifer
sends the message
to sky.
Not hearing―
the cooing of ringdoves
in snow.
Listening to
the swish of a car
on silent road.
Sunday, December 25, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/23/2024 7:40:16 AM # 1.0.0.1119
