The Swing

The Swing

1 min
206


The swinging branch of the tree

Beside the coffee shop,

Cawing of that crow fluttering its feathers,

Withering of leaves on my notebook;


The eyes sees them all but the mind registers deep inside,

Do they tell me a story of the nature's paradise?

Or they simply breathe life into me

With a touch of innocence and purity!



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