Why must a thorn
The flower adorn?
Why is a lotus born
With the prick of a thorn?
Why in these eyes
Must sorrowful tears lie?
Why must we have hearts When love departs?
Why instead of rain
The lightning’s hound.
The swallows beckoned
Into the shadow of the cloud?
If the buds-appear,
Why must flowers wither;
Why the tinsel of calumny
The brow of moon must wear?
Thy the yearning for beauty must
Weep, entrapped in lust?
Would the cheek
Sans black mole
Look bleak?
In this thorny bower,
Oh poet paint your rosy picture.
Your abode lies
In the tears of your eyes.
