The idolatry

The sun rode all while long its beaten path,

and at the peak of afternoon, Fritz stood inside the garden,

hardly moving a limb or so, He was possessed with,

love streak that the God is one and here is the dome,,

that was silent on like a parched tube of paste that

showed the artist’s skill in throes of wanting,

Hell lot of Love, there was misery that would never end,

He had alms for the summer as foaming as froth of sea beach,

he had as many coins as  a pauper on the fashion parade,

Love is lost by those who wing the Gods statues,

or by those dames poorer of  Love’s language saying no more,

Then I had met the stranger who let the cattle grazed the garden,

for bringing unto him, a saddened desire that there is no one,

in the world but to save his own soul.



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