The World Of Complaints

I saw a lovely red rose

At the farthest end of my sight.

I moved to it so close.

“How proud she be might!”

Along these rays and beams

Her sweet fragrance does flow

And to men in love it seems

For his love, a sign to show.

But I saw tears in her eyes

And wondered what the hell!

Why the red rose now cries?

In what sorrow did she fell?

It was her thorns behind

The tears she had shed.

“Won’t men in this find

A fade in my petals shining red?”

I spoke no words but,

“Yet you’re sweet and lovely.”

Could the thorns ever cut

The beauty I did smell and see?

I had seen tears in

Parrots and even in crows,

For both envied the other in

Beauty and freedom they owns.

Comparison’s the mother of complaints

And the father shall be intolerance

To see in others what in us faints.

Now the cure shall be in acceptance.

The world of complaints shall fade

When comparisons by acceptance are replaced.