The Past

Humming around the winter is the past,
This congratulates me as the last.

Years of daily amounts created laughter,
Mostly from seeds sown to glory and slaughter.

My music creates joy, all along and forever,
Lost is the happiness strongly in the endeavour.

May life contaminate the young and old,
Its powers feed us with triumph and gold.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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