(Homage to the sad demise of 'Little Shakespeare')
Methought no fair aspect in winter cold
Of e'ery falling star to bloody tyrant time,
That to my e'er living memory at break of day arise;
More blest of ages that are dead to account for love
Of thy most high deserts under the hedgerow of a cottage-tree,
To morning's pure serene in waste of words, my mind,
Against that forfeited dark to my eyes so blind:
This world of what in thy presence most abounds,
Oft in dismal shades of age-old grey, a titanic vision afar,
Pours forth in e'erything from earth's infernal grave
E'ery flower upon a barren heath in my bed of crimson joy;
A foul fawning bay at my door, bewails the night,
Away from out of sight to that day of unaltered eye,
I fain would bring to the page from out of the blues in still waters.
(C) Naveed Khalid
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Date Created: Sunday, November 30,2014 7: 27: 14 PM