... Withering...

...so peacefully the nighttime awaits by....
which selfness will wither
in times of drawn closer melancholy...
so many times as times to be gone bye...
...our sense of right and wrong
linger on deeps of per seclusion...
nightingales that sang the voluptuous cry
of sadness seldomly vowed in a ballet amidst thieving...
Why is love so blind of words...