The day is a hot furnace in harmattan
With no East winds to blow it cool
As man deed’s wrecks the innocent day
In the turmoil of erratic ecstasy
Nipping the buds of fruitful springs
With an open secret invitation to winters taunting’s.
2 comments:
...And when we tell gently our torments
On the thresholds of mother's feet
What ear shall listen to our painful
sobbings?
What eyes shall see our winter's taunting.
...And when we tell gently our torments
On the thresholds of mother's feet
What ear shall listen to our painful
sobbings?
What eyes shall see our winter's taunting.
@Destiny KC
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