WHISPERS

WHISPERS
And one fine dawn of the day,
Somewhere at the end of the
Summer or in the autumn of
my own soulless life,
It seems that I will not be
to live a long life with my dearest
I will not be there,
To savor the precious one
since, I did not listen to what
life has been whispering to me,
What my soul had told me earlier,
And in those unending days of
my slumber-this life simply pass by