Dear Ruins! I am writing this letter to you Ahead of spring, that winter has stooped Warmth of sun is felt again. Each morning and evening Rains often come with thunderstorms. This season, Flowers have promised to bloom. Every corner of the earth, Is hopeful to host one or the other. Dear Ruins! In your lap, out of thorns The buds will sprout And flowers will grow This summer, The fragrance of which will pass To every wavering heart. © Imtiyaz Pan Dow
