…that gradually cease.

Showering unto us from the bliss’s brink,

Umpteen drops of the elixir, the drink

To cure the decrepit body and heart,

Came the dusky cloud on heaven’s cart.

 

Tiny Mogras did toss their heads in glee,

And the bound denizens did feel free

From the grabs of sultry summer Sun,

Relishing fruits of wait, till the dawn.

 

For men may come and men may go,

But the life’s nature we ought to know

That, the only constant the Change is,

And mere others are, that gradually cease.

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