The full moon was
rising. November nght.
I throw away my walking stick.
*
A shiver runs
through my thoughts.
I had lost you in the thick fog.
*
The large fig tree.
Had not tied the black thread
round the big trunk?
Satish Verma
rising. November nght.
I throw away my walking stick.
*
A shiver runs
through my thoughts.
I had lost you in the thick fog.
*
The large fig tree.
Had not tied the black thread
round the big trunk?
Satish Verma
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