Butea
In the rays of the setting sun
The world wears a garment of
Bright, deoxygenated blood;
The world wears a garment of
Bright, deoxygenated blood;
By a streamlet's sluggish run
A flame of the forest
And blossoms thereof
Match the scarlet of the sunset
With their own crimson.
A flame of the forest
And blossoms thereof
Match the scarlet of the sunset
With their own crimson.
No comments:
Post a Comment