The poet, bent over the paper, ink-brush in hand,
carefully defining poetry for his pupils
did not see the first stork of the Spring
in the limitless blue sky,
...
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I like your poem. It carries a beautiful thought............cheers. Gaurav.
Dear Sir, Your poem is old wine, that only a few know the true taste. It give a new painting to artists, a new song to singers, and a deep meaning to wise ears. Be well with all my best wishes!