Summer Afternoon
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Nosheen Irfan
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Humid haze born of white clouds
Droning of a tired fan
Dry-mouthed cawing of a crow
Perched upon some panting branch
It's the same old story
Of a summer afternoon
So devoid of words
So teeming with lethargy
In each movement
Of the clock's hand
I can count victims
Of boredom.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş