Standing Still Poem by Satish Verma
Standing Still
The full moon was
rising. November nght.
I throw away my walking stick.
*
A shiver runs
through my thoughts.
I had lost you in the thick fog.
*
The large fig tree.
Had not tied the black thread
round the big trunk?
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/6/2024 2:00:30 PM # 1.0.0.1119
