The Evening
S
Sriranji Aratisankar
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The Cow-boy of song in the blues
Behold him, be seated alone
Neath such a tree has no magic shadow
Slope of the hill his straw-hut, mystic meadow.
His flute floating away on wild stream
Evening birds coming back fluttering
The sun about to set coloured ascension
The carol of dark-tune-lady the sky would sing.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş