SONNET 197
By JH Sayyar
How nicely I trim hair in the glass,
See an old face with the sunken eyes,
Always I mourn over my memory loss,
Dim with riper thoughts death signifies.
Where is my youth, staying with me?
In a new dress playing hide and seek,
Hiding her being appears in other ways,
To deceive poor wit; what a time freak
When I was young my; thoughts green,
Now I am old, my thoughts are riper,
Many a shades of life eyes have seen,
For coming race my verses wit riper
Years ripen thoughts as the sun fruit,
My pretty words world wisdom shoot
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