Buds blossoming in May
Float over clear cold lake ripples
Behind the line of drying socks...
With every gust of wind
This stranger comes closer
A determined sparrow
and some green melons split open
Only this city rave pricks within the seeds of the dusty woods
Fragrant blossoms remain
Hovering snowflakes
As the sun goes down
Trembling on a moonlit branch
We remember our scent
- Prajakta Sathe
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