To The Breeze
N
Nosheen Irfan
0
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Sing me a song
my spirits are low
Through the rustling trees,
speak to me
Let a soothing murmur
float through the vacuum
to reach me
O' breeze
Don't be fickle
Come, I need you
The sun burns a glaring red
The parched land gasps
The golden grass moans
A little of your touch
can heal the soul.
Nosheen Irfan © 2016
All Rights Reserved
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