Love

Every son that’s risen, sets

Every fruit that’s ripe , dries

Every soul that’s born, dies..

Laughter becomes a little tougher

Compassion becomes a little harder

Life becomes a little rougher

Some faces are hard to forget

Some memories are hard to part with

Some lives are hard to let go..

May be that’s what you call, love

Rest In Peace , Pootha!

In blissful peace, you Live..

2 thoughts on “Love

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