The fiery gleam Of Phoebus’s snare,The breezy airGently moving away a tuft of hairThe velvety greenParched across the sunAll this he desires but gets but noneDays o what days have becomeA box of just cement and mudPainted in hues of whiteWorth a billion mines“O! When shall we overcome?” Is the question nowOur faiths in aContinue reading “Hope”
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