Bygones
Once I prised storeroom by iron bar
Hand shovel—laid in corner,
Grandfather scoops soil
Fragmented farmer in
Bawdy sun
Metal tar!
Known as a Sod,
I picked chips of white bone
Indiscernible under the round, reticent clod.
Warm whispers brought my Creator—
Chortles, though,
White doves are talk of
Bygones!
Dr. Pragya Suman is Doctor by profession, and she is posted in medical college. Literature is her passion. She is from India.
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