A Pharaoh

Basking in Good Old day, I thought over the moon,

all the goodness is a thrift thing saved many ages over,

It’s my age when I cross the river to see you, it might not be haste,

There lurks the widow’s pride in summoning love letters when at home,

I see not blindness that I have eyed over for God’s sake,

I am based in thicket soil let not be spoiled by intake of love,

I am a dying soul who withers its feathers in Godly sense,

I make multiplications of millions of stars only to be turned stale,

The universe and its rhythm finds in ageless saint who spoke about lovers,

lest they gone late.


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