Best Trochaic Poems

Hobo

no bread

in shed...

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The setting sun weaves a poem, 
blossoming
unsung trochaic along the river basin 

(Nurulhuda Junction. Teesta)

Sometimes it feels quite an estranged thought to realise that living is a mundane day to day thing to sustain. The welfare causes are demanding all those intricate , subtle personal...

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Soaring seagulls flying free
Evening waves come forth, then flee
All these sounds wash over me...

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