Pic: Abode Spark
Not a phase of disappointment
But the turning of leaves into gold
Dry day with lengthen work
Air soaks the moisture of face
Yet I smile whole the time, and
Dance with autumn leaves,
I walk down the lane
And dance till the decay of day
When the dead leaves whisper together
And conspire with tree to bless
New leaves for new summer.
But the turning of leaves into gold
Dry day with lengthen work
Air soaks the moisture of face
Yet I smile whole the time, and
Dance with autumn leaves,
I walk down the lane
And dance till the decay of day
When the dead leaves whisper together
And conspire with tree to bless
New leaves for new summer.
Dr. Ashutosh
No comments:
Post a Comment