Charity

Colors of fall yellow, orange, red and brown and then unending drop. I used to laugh on unheard jokes. The crowd thins as tall stalwarts autumn-wished, begin to shed the pretentions. The naked spirit roars on the hill. Age will be no bar, the war is still on – stitching the tears. I can hear the whispers. It was the shirt of death, which you want to put on and play the game for charity. SATISH VERMA