Shayari Bazar

And then there is that day when all around,all around you hear the dropping of the apples, oneby one, from the trees. At first it is one here and one there,and then it is three and then it is four and then nine andtwenty, until the apples plummet like rain, fall like horse hoofs in the soft, darkening grass, and you are the last apple on thetree; and you wait for the wind to work you slowly free from your hold upon the sky, and drop you down and down. Long before you hit the grass you will have forgotten there ever was a tree, or other apples, or a summer, or green grass below,You will fall in darkness...