Here I stand,
On the banks of a lake,
Not too big, not too small,
But not as big as Baikal at all.
Watching the sun set,
When the sky is red,
Waiting for the moon to shine.
Looking at the flock of a hundred birds,
Who migrated down from Siberia,
Not being able to bear the December cold,
Fly back to the nest,
Which I'm not sure yet made.
After spending their day,
Fluttering their wings,
In the water of the lake.
Just like Wordsworth I would too,
Reminisce this moments,
Which made my eyes sooth,
Lying on the couch all alone,
Or maybe somewhere,
In the middle of a crowded place,
But still all alone,
Memories I call these,
The golden ones, with red sky.
YOU ARE READING
Lies We Tell
PoetryHow I wish that someone came to me and told me that everything will be fine. //Set of Poems//
