We are too small!
The green leaves which rustle
under which I sit and read,
Say they might touch the ground soon,
The wind blowing with a shimmer
not seen, yet seems to message
I don’t expect anything in return;
The growing anthill by the tree
and by the steady line speaks
not of dormant state,
The dried pond reminds me those days
When the washer men dipped
and dried their colorful clothes,
Yet we look up and smile,
I am too great and big!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment