Many a year I spent,
with the woes of solitude,
stir my ego from bereavement,
of the little nymph,
hath thee been again with me,
was a nightmare till found a damsel,
who hath to be thee,
the story of history,
came unto the mind,
pouring from the heaven's brink,
like an endless fountain,
the joy the freedom,
all faded like the dew in the dawn,
yet I suppose thee the same,
the little nymph full of rapture.
0 comments:
Post a Comment