The first call from him,
Her heart smiled.
The second call,
She felt something missing.
The third call,
She knew it was,
Not how it's supposed to be.
The fourth call,
It never happened.
The calls died,
Just like autumn leaves.
- borntowinash
YOU ARE READING
Everlasting
Poetry"Only moths can understand the pleasure of burning in the flame" (Started:- 24 - January - 2019) (Completed:- 22 - March - 2019)
