The Footsteps

Rising from the wild thickets,
The fireflies gather like glistening trinkets,
Dancing and whirling, rejoicing and carousing,
I see all my abhorrence dousing,
Midst the wavy dense grasses,
Gentle sound of footsteps passes,
I search and I chase,
But he vanished, in the winter's haze,
Mind fails to resume the Nature's appreciation,
As the soul is occupied in intruder's inquisition,
Are you the light, above and beneath?
Or the fog, in frost's sheathe?


                           ~S.S~











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