Man’s
Mastery, Again it Is God’s Gift.
Painter’s ebullient brush strikes.
When aridity knocks , drought
with pride set in
The fallen flowers
crave for the lost seats,
their stems, The Sun
now lurks beneath its orb,
A kind
of Chill chuckles
at man’s inhibition.
The
lovelorn lies in the last stage, in the cottage,
His lady bird
appears ,soothes ,consoles
Infusing a fuel of
animated Love,
The cottage is
no longer, seeming Dotage .
He
revels, flies with
the wings of plumage.
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