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A prolific writer inspired by environment and insights. He writes poems and essays and articles.

A Naive Fawn

Then there was dawn
And indeed the night died
Perhaps I saw a lover fawn
That direly needed to hide

Did the ocean seem blue enough?
Or the forest was reasonably green?
Anything adequate to contain romance
The poor fawn had never seen

Yes, a tale of a foolish fawn
He had a face but cursed to four feet
I remember it was a pretty dawn
But love endured a terrible treat!

Relating yourself

Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity.

— William Wordsworth

© 2021 Muhammad Mizanur Shuvra

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