We started childish,
Became mature,
Quarreled apish,
Looked for a cure.
Our relationship is,
Yes flawed it is,
Imperfect it is,
But how sweet it is.
We have had tiffs,
You wept and,
I hardly slept,
But we solved if's.
Our little world is,
Free to fly it is,
Not to cry it is,
But we live as it is.
Gusts of winds blow,
Harsh & dry,
We never cry,
And we do not bow.
It gave us a shove,
Humble dove,
Of purest love,
We wore no glove.
Our hands had met,
We put a bet,
In this game,
Carrying full blame.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 7:57 AM UTC
We started childish,
Became mature,
Quarreled apish,
Looked for a cure.
Our relationship is,
Yes flawed it is,
Imperfect it is,
But how sweet it is.
We have had tiffs,
You wept and,
I hardly slept,
But we solved if's.
Our little world is,
Free to fly it is,
Not to cry it is,
But we live as it is.
Gusts of winds blow,
Harsh & dry,
We never cry,
And we do not bow.
It gave us a shove,
Humble dove,
Of purest love,
We wore no glove.
Our hands had met,
We put a bet,
In this game,
Carrying full blame.
♡♥♡♥♡
A toast to the purest love!
♡♥♡♥♡
Cheers!
♡♥♡♥♡
My HP Poem #317
©Atul Kaushal
