Mere words, mere words, and nothing more
than what in these threads of thought,
more children in your account;
and I need them not to undress before thee,
what you for your garment wear:
nor e'en with such words would e'er be more light
that at your door abound,
unless I grow old, giddy and numb,
not knowing what to do with time;
except to watch you sit still at thy throne,
a book in your hand, rais'd to predestined stars,
I pray, I pray, I love thee so.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2013.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: 9/25/2013
* 100 Days
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