Not in presence of the mind I can e'er know thee,
Past woe made new by old day's rhetoric,
That I can still see Oldman sitting on the bench;
Whiling away his time with children in the park,
Unlike my Father in whom I find no match,
Silence reigns o'er Him to ending doom of poetry!
What needst I but to fight against all odds, all vicissitudes of the sky,
The star in dismal shades hath rent thy solemn mien;
Else season's breath in melting snow, so cold and gray,
Love's woeful song of thy fair lamb in November,
Of looks so awry to witness beauty in summer's prime.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Thursday, April 24,2014 4: 32: 56 PM

by Naveed Khalid

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