Life is not made
for redemption
neither for self-degradation
nor self-condemnation--

even nature in her wondrous splendour
has blemishes--weeds among flowers-
sunshine stolen by stormy thunders
ripples crushed by swelling waters--

how many solemn vows
are made by stricken lovers
how often are they broken
causing tears to fall like showers--

every love has some element of doubt
affections' intensity differs  in-between hours
the heart has its irksome ups and downs
it might break in rough seasons but somehow recovers.