Mournful lit of the foggy morn;
Melancholy whisper of the brighten moon,
Told me one night not to be what the world made me to
But... the puckered heart didn't hear what they said
And, I wandered all ov'r the night don't know what i'm going through

Now the mind wants to be empty;
wanna lit every thing into ashes that it played with
It had a great time with "time", plenty
but, it's  became an old-fashioned-historical myth

The whisper or sounds—A sweet melodic chaunt of birds;
A poet's poetic shades on entangled words,
Touched a beautiful young lady's soul
whose life got painted on colors
but the beauty made the world to kiss up what the poet discovered.