Fatima Nusairat Poet Free verse

Withered Heart

Here are the wheat spikes-
In the first dawn joyful hours;
Loosen her braids while
Dew slips above her neck, 
 
Roaming up and down,
Approaching slightly
As a nightingale song,
Or as adorer towards
Those golden homes 

Here are the wheat spikes
In the first dawn joyful hours;
Loosen braids  
Like a charming breezes, 

So why - as a gloomy cloud
My heart withers?


Written by © Fatima Nusairat

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