I sit still by the oak tree,
waiting to hear the church bell,
ring with e'ery falling star,
so deafening to the ear in winter cold;
posies around my head of eyes so blind,
oft are swayed by thy love
of mellowing year in spring:
bespeaks of thy unattended presence,
more bright to illumine ere thine unweird eye
than by what I write to my faults concealed.
(C) Naveed Khalid
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All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Thursday, October 02,2014 11: 23: 27 AM