If it is over it was a wish
If it is not over it is a dream
Either way,
If it is meant to be mine
It will come back to me.
Long have the welling waters receded,
To make way for the freshness ot spring.
Now that the flowers have lost their fragrance,
And the cuckoo bird rarely calls
I know not if the wait is over.
Yet the stars play music
Rolling in the sky
And the shooting star keeps falling
To delight in fancy.
I understand not the roughness of harsh words,
All I wanted was a day for the divine
All
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