Basir Seerat's PhotoBlog

The Tulip Bed The May sun-whom all things imitate- that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky through bluegauze clouds upon the ground.…

Little Fly, Thy summer's play My thoughtless hand Has brushed away. Am not I A fly like thee? Or art not thou A man like me? For I dance And drink, and sing,…
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