Needest not I in counting prayers thy blessings more, of woe-begone days that half-baked masonry's night, a broccoli, beneath the bed of crimson joy against e'ery flower upon a barren heath! of cowslip her parted hair upon the sand dunes, under the hedgerow of a cottage-tree: thy iron car at matilda's farm of e'ery departed look my shipwrecked dreams, no dark can e'er illumine in the late evening, beside the oak, this world of thy most high deserts hath rent at midnight lease, of eyes so blind such darling buds of may, heaven-ward bent her gracious muse of so rich thy charms, all wrapped in shroud of a star, still musing o'er the dale in nurslings of immortality, the sun of our common affairs at my door, that day of christmas eve, our little john, opes a garden unto my unweird eyen, sweet maid, where blue-bells hang by the wall at e'ery step of the way by the sea-ashore, ages that are dead above the mundane, of laurel wreath thy myrtle crown.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2016. All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Monday, April 04,2016 7: 36: 42 PM Monday, April 04,2016 7: 37: 57 PM
* S k i d: in whose heart...
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