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“Now weary drought is unfolding with morn's very maturing warmth,where scorching sun's importing beams a glowing fire upon our hearth.Naught,the chillness of rills,no more a flowering spot for musing eyes,summer's dirge is haunting still,we singing our notes in hapless ease.” — Nithin Purple
Now weary drought is unfolding with morn's very maturing warmth,where scorching sun's importing beams a glowing fire upon our hearth.Naught,the chillness of rills,no more a flowering spot for musing eyes,summer's dirge is haunting still,we singing our notes in hapless ease.