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The Bee that stings, alights on each flower,
more gently than the kiss of a lover!
And though it sucks the nectar hungrily,
The flower gives it away, lovingly!
Twisting and turning through the birth-canal,
The baby comes out head first, crying loud;
When mother's sufferings become banal,
It turns into a sigh of relief, proud!
Great things are born out of much sufferings;
And this is true of Poetry that lasts;
In sufferings, the spirit becomes king,
With armour of grace/divineness, God casts.
Effortless man remains in laziness;
After pain comes relief, thats happiness.
Dr John Celes
Read poems about / on: flower, poetry, baby, happiness, birth, kiss, mother, pain, god, sonnet
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