I have walked through storm and placid,
Through sun and rain,
To find the equation of true love
Without success,
I stand here pondering,
Wondering if any victim may know
She walks on me,
And take a profound look into my eyes
She mumbles at last,
Love is beautiful,
It's comparable to blossoming roses,
Or drizzling drops in the sun's vicinity
My psyche rebels,
'Cause I know flowers wither with time,
And the drops surmount the sun.
That's not true love
He descries her charms as the true love,
As the solved equation of it.
She unpretentiously goes astray,
Opening her heart wide to his looks,
And size of his trousers' pocket.
They pledge to die out in eternity,
But single out in soonish,
Because their looks fade away with days,
And his pocket size diminishes unnotably.
That's not true love
I stand on the bank and see the river flow,
It flows down the valley without haste,
But still overcomes the stumbling blocks on its way.
I cast my eyes in the north and see a mountain,
Standing sturdily and firmly,
Not swayed by the stormy currents,
Nor moved by the raging quakes,
It overlives the parching sun rays.
That's what I equate to true love,
Patience and perseverance.
©chris
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