Last Journey
P Pradip Chattopadhyay
0
Altın Yaprak
The hearse waits at the door
the dead is ready for the funeral's chore
dressed in this last hour
in wreaths of white flower
can't hold back the widow's moan
a journey that's now his own
can't see his son look grown in years
as he follows his father's hearse.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş