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The withering tree
Bare branches
Reaching out for a plea
Weathered
Yet, hoping for a miracle
Peeling off
The barks from the trunk
Roots trying to hold firm
Reaching deeper
In search of hope
In the midst of ruins
Narrating a sordid tale
Of wilting beauty
From millions of miles
The Sun blazes away
Giving away its warmth
As a gift of life
Flares of fire
Ignites every new day
Touching billions of hearts
Been so long
Yet, its love is bright
Every ray a beacon of hope
Waking us up
With its caress
Every day
Drops of liquid gold
Enriches our life
 Jan 2015 Bharti Singh
Tryst
HP maidens, poetesses,
Scribes refined in frocks and dresses,
Silver words and golden tresses
Fall upon your page.
With your slender painted fingers,
Tell the tales your hearts would bring us,
Let the marching bands and singers
Take you to the stage.
Have no fear of failing,
With your words regaling,
All the seeds of mighty deeds
And heady heights you're scaling;
With your thirst for love and sharing,
Let your trumpet sound it's blaring,
Tell it bold and tell it daring,
You are all revered!
Joe Cole "write about a friend" challenge.
Written to the tune of "Men of Harlech".
I couldn't write about just one HP poetess, so I wrote about them all.
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