And then evening descended on his frosty wings,
spreading the mellow winter chill around.
Far away like a candle, light grey,
of devotion, she beamed at me
with love dancing on her head like the crimson flame!
Well in mine it has always been her name,
like a chant, my heartbeats, a rosary –
until I am dead and my breathing stops,
till I am born again in the throes of her love!

  

Then the evening wrapped his wings around
the world, when his feet touched the ground,
in an evil scheme to seduce
some of us with an illusion of hope,
the poets who cannot trace their Muse
and those with no poetry inside
and they in numbers came, giving theirs’ up!

   

But her light grey beams of pure devotion
have painted me a heaven out of my hell,
telling me in whispers, time and again,
I have Poetry and she has me as well!

  

.

  


 

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6 thoughts on “The Evening on Frosty Wings

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