And We Both Were Dead
In the mist of October,
brown leaves fall.
Some trees were dead,
And the rest is blooming,
Ending yet, the beginning.
Most mysterious thing,
Brown leaves haunt,
but indeed they fall;
Start of a poem, chilly wind whispers,
Brown leaves fall,
The new Golden-one, appears.
Story of Autumn yet to be told.
Copyright © Nafees Reza | Year Posted 2023
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