Evening is a stage
will come to every one.
Time burns our vigor,
our zeal, endeavor,
and our spell
goes away from
the eyes of the
Who listens to
the past, the history
of their glorious past?
In a semi-dark room
we will listen
the clamor of the
will fly in the bushes
and the blurred sky....
Only, they are, there
in their past place,
but the rest world
will get segregated
from the zone of old ones....
The darkness, the crickets
and the willow-the-wasp
from the far-off marshy land,
will make us remember,
we had also the crown
of victorious young age!
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