The evening breeze that came to wake,
From your extended siesta,
The wind fingered your tresses,
That fell across your brow.
And when a reluctant sun,
Went back home bidding adieu,
Leaving a golden trail in the sky,
Your eyelids slowly started,
Trying to flutter open,
My quivering lips did shut them again,
It was not yet your time to wake.
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