Walking Past the Al Waha Club

Walking Past the Al Waha Club

How humbly sleeps

The portulaca at my feet

While the tiny tips of shiny grass

Hang captive lights

From the lamps in the street

 

My footsteps hurry after the scent

Of waking chrysanthemums

Around the bend

And linger awhile

By the copse near the swings

Where children shout and laugh and scream

Till the evening dies-

And the generous moon

Continues to shine

On the voices and the flowers

And the shadows

And I

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