Thank Hell That Heaven's Sweet

The beauty of lotus from dirt does rise, From scorching heat come cool showers of rain, And every joy springs from deep pits of pain, So are sorrows sent to men him to size. There’d be charm nor venture in life’s challenge, Should road ahead be straight smooth and well-laid, If life always shined bright hues of orange, Bewitching were to come every young maid; If life were but a bed of roses quite, As if all thorns were condemned to exile, If banished was black shade, life always bright, All pleasure-no pain would make life sterile. Crib not O Mind problems keep a cropping, Thank, they come whetting dull will from rusting. __________________________________________________ - Sonnets | 07.04.11 |