Picture from Pinterest. O lord, the heat on days of summer are loud The cool on winter are, a cruel and brutal proud The naked trees on autumn are on oldest occupation Where the spring just gives it lovely perfumes Still these humanity, don't bow the loving seasons Humans just complain what does prevailed Lovely the lady, more is she needed for her beauty Besides her earthly defects and bruises are bounty Never would everyone confess the rude truths ever Just they say, it was with which they are brought Which every creature downloads the goodness not really Whilst, don't they think the precious nature always real Oh!!! My lord, save the fool from lots of dying pool A complaint origin with roots of want and went for lovely wool A complain is plain that born from complaint itself Those complaints shall feel the paradox of heaven to hell Just as they does, the doer complaint again to gain nothing But a thousand prec
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