The gentle blow of sincere breath,
Can open the feathered door of a heart,
The tempestuous wind of affair in mind,
Modify the feather into metal, not to recline,
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Once tasted, the guilt of remembrance to waste,
The rest of life; looking through the tarnish,
The stained past, not removed, garnish,
Beautiful work. One feels like being taught a class of anthropology by a Psychologist.
Thanks poet for the sharing of the lovely poem.10++ for it.
Subhas
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Once tasted, the guilt of remembrance to waste, The rest of life; looking through the tarnish, The stained past, not removed, garnish, Beautiful work. One feels like being taught a class of anthropology by a Psychologist. Thanks poet for the sharing of the lovely poem.10++ for it. Subhas