Theme: Death


The autumn sun has risen
But yet to attain high noon-
Make hay, my roses fair.
I would not be happy to see you,
Decaying with the hasting day.
I have short time as you.
Growing too quickly to decay,
Dying as the summer’s rain-
As the pearls of morning’s dew
Never to be seen again as I’m.


More By  : Dr. Ram Mehta

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