Of What I can see not through many a starlit night,
Enwrought with my humble ode hath but little scope,
Put against the mirror of thine eye this world;
Apart from where you sow the seed of love or hate,
I'll move on with such stepping stones, no destiny insight,
To marvel the ages that are dead from history's yellow pages,
And to revel in good old days by e'ery fleeting shadow:
My ancestral form insidious of empty vessels to fill the cup,
Where I my secret hath kept away from thy presence alone,
The hand that writ these lines thy gilded monument astounds.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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All Rights Reserved.

Naveed Khalid

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/astral-3/