That was a winter morning when the sun kissed me.
It seemed every one around missed me..
I was new in the bog and there was still a wisp of fog.
The climate was mellow and I was baptized as yellow..
I have felt the humming birds feather.
And it went by as fair weather..
They all say that I will wither.
I say with my broken smile I care either....
By: A Withering Flower
Pic clicked at Jaigarh Fort near Ganpatiphule