There stands the cloud of a hundred shadows o'er my head,
That by the nighsky her seraph wings unfold;
And I can ne'er know where gone are the days
Of happy hours, each moment in waste hands of time,
Goes ticking by a buzz of the church bell afar:
The sun has but yonder looks to awake a wonder in thine eye,
Weary with toil, too old, has nothing that by a shadow,
The dream of the world hangs by the door in full-bright summer.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2013.
All Rights Reserved.
*Republished
*Date Created: Tuesday, December 24,2013 2: 01: 18 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem