In a lonely place succumbs.
To my childhood till this day.
Carves the age of longevity.
When colors were once remained.
Blue captured eyes like fame.
Streets pathed along the way—
Guiding to a melancholy lane.

In times of November breeze.
Boat by boat each one sail's,
The building's growing moss—
that cries the tears of rain.
Slipping like a sultry state,
Washing what can never stay.
Filling through but twas too late.

To the race walking in romans.
Sparkles every narrative palm.
Marigolds that lead their way,
The cold traded from warm.
Everybody's longing a friend.
Dark night was a weeping tomb,
In places were life meets the end.