May 2020
There is a flower of desire
In his eyes of fire, that flickers like a candle
There is oak on the mantle
There is a crispness to his voice
That rings like that burning furnace
Amidst a rattling of dry leaves dying of thirst
And yearns for the yellow sun
There is a fire in his eyes
It is lit by emotion in his heavy heart
In his eyes of fire, that flickers like a candle
There is oak on the mantle
There is a crispness to his voice
That rings like that burning furnace
Amidst a rattling of dry leaves dying of thirst
And yearns for the yellow sun
There is a fire in his eyes
It is lit by emotion in his heavy heart
"Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science."- William Wordsworth
(27/M/New Delhi, India)
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