OIP.jpgUploadFile_Viewer_Download • 23KB Smoky evening makes the mist- To be just what it wants to be, If somewhere you cry; My pain gets sound, What it sounds to be. As all has gone,you prove to be more real- They exchange their traits. No more mendacious hope is here, What left more in the cold of an eye; Though warmth in wallet. Rags are new again, If that are touched by thee, Experiences are falls, If thy love a delusion at all. Scold me, curse me, named me inferno – The blessing of my love is that, If I die, nobody’ll call you widow.