In this great land of uncommon sages
Where iniquities have become rated
And hard labour, paid with meagre wages
While morals and truth are dead hated ...
In the hope of an umpteen boon I sit
Like a star still in the spell of the night
Shunning the dole of diurnal orbit
Solo scouring mega rays of the Light ...
None who saw it ever told it
'Tis as hid as Death
Had for that specific treasure
A departing breath-
Surfaces may be invested
Did the Diamond grow
... Read complete poem
