No way left to retreat.
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The shawl of Winter mist
the vast expanse ofgold fragrancein the mustard fieldsmurk the lust skin deep.Wisps of winged cloudstart soapingthe soft fair nude skinof the lady mountainsurge a fire of urgein the nuptial bedspread over tons and tonsof mustard flowers.
You have been since long
None understands pure virtuous heart!
The latent wishes of Heart-
colour of love on hearts.
The song of bygone roads
on a wintered old ox.
Apes are Mothers
But their Kids to love none.
Oil floats
In small, tiny amount.Likewisepeople of low profileScatter their dreamsWhen they fall short ofan appropriate numberthat suits their existence.