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Here is blowing only the heat... the heat.... the heat....!
The spring has gone, his body has been cremated; still, on forests, on gardens, on every particle, on everyone's life here his influence persists; that has penetrated every vein becoming blood.
On colour, on smell, on taste, on touch as a result deep coatings have been laid layer upon layer. All the natural has been covered and the question has become very mysterious, therefore, even after cremation the whole of the premises must get washed.
But what is this! why excess even being a guest? If no income, let it not be, no worry for the expenditure also, but, squandering is horrible. The future doesn't look safe, the forehead of the fate is blurred!
Silent Soil :: 187
