In this yawning night,
When stars r few but the moon is bright,
While the bucolic wind environs my hand,
I miss ur name in this hearty sand...
The inebriated stomach and smoky lungs,
Recalls all the colloquies and miticulous puns,
Evokes futile blood from the throat and brain,
Leaving a tranical imbroglio in all of my vein...
The pledge of nt ruminating those days,