Life isn't a bed of roses,
For us to cherish always.
The occasional prick of thorns,
Our Saviour unseen, it reminds.
A pinch of salt mixed with food
Tickles our tongue and tastes good,
Like events rough and rude,
Go with our every joyful mood.
The value of shade one knows,
In the hot sun, when he goes,
Like "No pain, no pleasure,"
Also "No gain, sans suffer."
To climb up is an uphill task,
But it makes a soft descend back,
Like the fruit of one's hard labor
One harvests and enjoys later.
Will a story sans a villain
Give all the thrill and shine?
Nay, to save the harassed heroin
Hero knocks him out, said and done.
So mind not any pain,
That's followed by a gain,
Just as thunders that frighten
Vanish with the fall of rain.