The Last Spring.

The Last Spring.

The Last Spring.

The season, following winter and preceding summer,
Agony in me, dwindling from a simmer.

All with the season’s chills and scorch,
Lying on the bed of rhododendron I watch.

Lying leisurely over this flowery red way,
Concurrently I need shade and the rays.

Up in the trees or down on the ground,
These bunch comes with an effortless bound.

Noon in the woodland of wild blooms,
Yes, it’s much captivating than a nap in my shabby room.

Between those sparse hanging arms,
Those snowy crests brings me a peace and calm.

Eulogizing the moment can’t be brought to an end.
The zone of ecstasy we make, what a perfect blend!
-Yash Mainali

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Yash Mainali
Doesn't matter how many new blooms are there. Feeling for the very first one is totally conserved. No other can replace the feel of essence in prime florescence I had for.

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