A song of an obelisk

by August 24, 2014 0 comments

No one listen
A cuckoo here today,
So, sings for his own
And dies without

Magnet, are his songs
Dust of iron left out of reach
Pathetic echoes the winter
Memories of spring cherished.

Once it was a tree,
Not anymore today
Though, vanished memories
Of: myrtle stand.

Name of a penman
Below the pillar is seen.

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