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
Copy Rights (C) 2014. All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Thursday, October 02,2014 11: 23: 27 AM
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