![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJV8LQaHwS4jCeNwEJUXJhHKxq4fG-uhyphenhyphen3bl78NWQd4H2fMH03pHRMBcSHRvenrWcppYc1g_gAFbkK8s5i4hp2P2QzBnnOIi2PlMOlVO0w9P8kVs-iBnmARsVYNtwkGNNDmBbCaRYth1j/s400/tk_09052011.jpg)
16. Whatever Mould
O’ Layla,
If my limbs have withered,
Heal me, that I may come to thee,
Walking or crawling.
And If my heart is stone cold,
Burn me, that I may melt into
Whatever mould that thou may hold.
This is what I call an uncommented poem. So I better stop now before my non-comment amounts to a comment of sorts.
Have a beautiful day, sunshine - and may each of us find our Layla.
Pax Taufiqa.
No comments:
Post a Comment