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Nira’s Tale Of Love: II
Nira’s Tale Of Love: II
1 min
34
Pompous humanity favoured her;
Born poor in real grace and sober.
Shaken leaves hanging fruits and unearthed root;
The face of ecstasy makes her moot.
Mirrored in water; even moon mourned in the night;
Her wet busy hairs lazily set a fright.
Shinning fading ripples of memory,
Forged her swimming to bank unseen.
Her low brow shone like a lost pearl;
Neither I nor you can touch her curl.
