To Melancholy

Under pale Autumn moon
Blooms a flower lone
Through wailing wind
Hung a fragrance cold
In black moonlight
Cold lips kiss a flute
Withered leaves rose
As the dead choir wept
To melancholy

The blind man drinks
His cup of despair
A cold fragrance sinks
A lost soul drowns
In the abyss he chases
The dead choir’s tune
And under a black moon
He plucks a flower lost
To melancholy.

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Published by

Dipankar

Read a bit. Write a bit. That's about it.

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