A celebration of sorts

The greenery of love exists sometimes into the far morning racing on an auto race,

You pick up the hues of winter blasted upon the face of a cocoon,

You nibble upon the fog as silently you walk away onto the dusty wintery road,

And I see the tears swell with storms of low key days,

I still remember your name etched on pinkish dream, a cool destiny of February night,

hung on to the canvas by the painter who is a postman by the day,

and your letters left on the couch where single moment lasts a century,

time slows the beauty and beauty the time,

I pick up the conversation as lasted upon far away galaxy,

you just walked by the nebula and on the earth it seems a dry day,

when there is not enough whiskey to celebrate your birthday.


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