Fresh Dour
Where are the magical lilies and lovely daisies?
Spring in the step and jump in our strides?
Where is the old love we lost in
the apparent youthfulness of age,
Arent some things supposed to remain the same,
Like fresh dew drops on the mahogany tress,
Skies burning themselves down to birth
The magnificent hues of morning,
Isnt sun the only companion
Required for the sustenance of a sunflower?
How did we lose the musty fragrance from our?
anew book of love,
You said years delve into moments and decades into
Ephemerality,
However, we are losing a score one moment an eon,
A noose tightening gently while we
Shy to look away directly our eyes,
I am looking for one moment of sadness,
Which caused a watershed of doom,
You had quoted some famous Italian poet,
Mentioning the significance of an event,
Foisted by a series of necessary wailing
Moments crescendo- ing,
Similar to whiplash,
One painful experience after the other.
