A cold wind still blows,
As the rusty old lamppost still stands,
In the garden crafted in nature’s glass,
In a heart that no one understands.
Frosted are the roses,
Frosted is the tree of the lark.
Frosted is that lonely bench,
By that frosted lake in that park
Winter here … seems to last forever,
Time out here seems to stand still.
Life amidst all this still seems to go on,
Believing that spring shall not pass by again, believing still… atleast until.
1 comments:
umm... u know... this comes after our conversation we had yesterday... so i am doing a lot of 2+2 and somehow it's adding up to 5!
frosted garden huh?
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