She stands in the verandah
looking at the rain caressing
the ground. She can, but
only think of him.
She loved the rains best
when he was around and
she knew she’d just have to
ask. He’d come. Always.
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She stands in the verandah
looking at the rain caressing
the ground. She can, but
only think of him.
She loved the rains best
when he was around and
she knew she’d just have to
ask. He’d come. Always.
Posted in Archana, Poetry | Leave a Comment »
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