The Waning Moon
And like a dying lady, lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapped in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,
The moon arose up in the murky east,
A white and shapeless mass.
Old London Bridge - Only for Poets
Connecting the Poets who digging heart of me Still death - Sabarnasri
HEARTY WELCOME & HAVE A NICE STAY
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