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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

Copyright © | Year Posted 2014




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things