would know it for sure.
A bough broken from trees,
will wilt for want of cure.
Had it been on the tree,
boughs would dangle free.
Birds on it could have perch,
of now, no remains to search.
They who snatch and rob,
yet not their conscience prick.
The losers who weep and sob,
and fall prey to their lovely trick!
They who cast sweet charms,
and hold our heart in sway.
They who kissed, had lovely arms,
yet left us alone on the way.
Prasenjit©1997-2012
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