Shy and wise and white as snow,
gazing upon the moon;

With open eyes and folded wings,
she sings her hollow tunes.

Calling out, to he who sleeps,
and keeps her wide awake;

Who broke her wings and left her heart,
impaled onto a stake.

Perched atop, his window sill,
she waits for him to rise;

For vengeance not, she waits for love,
while in his dreams he cries.

Out to her and out of pain,
he screams into the night;

Screeching now, this bird of lust,
awaits his pearly eyes.

By: Viraj Belgaonkar

Pen it... or aaa type it. u know what i mean.

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