Nothing seemst to ‘change’
Despite the rule much fabled:
Booked life: its page
Or pages left just one lined,–
‘Trysts hard and fail,’
And me gost turning more,
Hoping to arrive at destiny’s hail,
Alas but monotony roar!
Life mine with few weighty words,
Make these an iron rod;
Black, heavy for paged birds,–
Too weighty a single turn, O God!
Thus, huge efforts with each page,
Still, but, the familiar ones gaze.
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