The Noble Season
Some pretty eyes may wear glasses.
So, love too sadly always passes
Where we turn it into burning ashes,
But lovers may remind in flashes.
All feel no time as passing away
And sacred beauty, may return no more.
Some eyes he certainly met before,
Will try to see the dream and way.
Once departed, the verses from the stanza,
May not regain the perfume of the day
Nor that lost date with a lover alley,
In spite of merry hot extravaganza.
Desire hidden in the flute of bone,
But verses let not your soul be alone
In wishful thought and never known,
The same, this playful day is lasting one.
While tears try to change the horoscope,
The Noble Season dies; but, having hope,
Good man can smile to other scope:
Some hearts to Rubaiyat still slope.
Copyright © Ovidiu Bocsa | Year Posted 2016