Ploughman I Poem by Naveed Khalid

When the sun at my doorstep each morning,
Arise from out thine eyes of glittering gold;
And through that taint'd glass of Dionysian spirits,
Oft I behold him at his throne, akin to God:
That each day is but a dull, common round of day,
Cast out in a dismal shade from old woes anew;
A world of troubles begin in a Greek land of dreams,
Behind the night-long love upon the earth evermore,
Provide nature with her departed looks for a fertile crescent.

(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2013.
All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Saturday, January 19,2013 2: 58: 45 PM