Words pop up from my mind
Like a pop corn from a dish
Till I smear them on the paper
& Forming the queue to bind
Lightly, Slowly, Swaying in the air
They fall on the plain of your heart
Like the feather of a bird
It tickles your soul
and let it slowly depart
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
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