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 precious poison thoughts to do again
Thank you (Karma)
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