OLD SONGS

Don't aim for me when I'm gone, when all there's left are memories of old songs I sung; don't aim with roses or with a gun, when all there's left are memories of the tears and fun... The birds have migrated to the West my love, each and every empty nest now boasts of only…

Ishaism – September

And so, the long awaited Spring, sent word of its coming...on those leafy messengers of the Fall... © Isha Garg