The Wither Blooms, she dries in a sheet,
The fresh Blooms, she adores with heartbeats.
In the warm summer, she becomes a breeze,
For herself,
A piece of tranquility.
In the freezing winter, she embraces herself,
For the pavement of serenity.
The Beautiful Scenery, she admires,
A Memory frame till grave.
The Unnerved sight, she endures,
A Broken piece of her bravery,
Whatever comes her way,
Odorous or Malodorous, She...
A clay?
~Kavi
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Kavi's Scribbles
PoetryJust a person who loves to express thoughts through words A Simple form of crafting happiness ♡
