Evening

Evening is a stage will come to every one. Time burns our vigor, our zeal, endeavor, and our spell goes away from the eyes of the budding flowers. Who listens to the past, the history of their glorious past? In a semi-dark room we will listen the clamor of the fest around. The fire-glow will fly in the bushes and the blurred sky.... Only, they are, there in their past place, but the rest world will get segregated from the zone of old ones.... The darkness, the crickets and the willow-the-wasp from the far-off marshy land, will make us remember, we had also the crown of victorious young age!