That furr coat in winter cold
on a golden clime,
pricked with old formed memory,
I hath plucked from dust-covered page
of thy book in churl bones
at white's lease her unforgettable time,
a full measured hour glass,
ah, fill the cup with stars most revered,
that to play a hunch for the parade,
must I hide from eternals this world
of thy most high deserts
at sunset of the evening sky.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Tuesday, October 20,2015 12: 54: 27 AM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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