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New Birth is Very Costly


Uzma Sadaf

It autumn,
The dress of the twigs,
Has disappeared,
They are gloomy,
The dry twigs,
Seem to be bewailing,
The winds pierce through them
Like arrows,
Their children, the leaves,
Seem to be soaked with their tears,
How should I tell you,
What sacrifice, the new body,
The new dress takes from us.

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