By: Gowri Nadmichettu
What mores can wings cope?
Be snores a better hope
Or clips a better sin
Than fibs of what is win.
What walks can imbue?
Be stalks just a better view
Or flash a better sign
For green of old design.
Never can they find the gold
If let they be told
Mind you, it gets old
And more so, much too cold.
