A poem is a reflection of life in words and there
is a private world behind every word..Varma
 |
| Profvarmaphoto |
Seasons
She was
She was
Like the flowers of Spring
She was
Like the cheeks of summer
Years rolled on
She became
The lips of winter
And
Turned into
The hairs of Autumn
All hollow and dry
And lean and hungry
She grew
Seasoned through seasons
One can’t stop ageing
Through the maze of life
Racing ahead gracefully
 |
| Profvarmaphoto |
No comments:
Post a Comment