​Blemishes and scars cover the face of majestic silver moon,
The sturdy looking mayfly always dies too soon.

Jump into the wrong lake and your blood will turn it red,
The happy looking marigolds are the flowers of the dead.

Too much of salt and the food is brackish,
Too little of sweetness and relations perish.

Two ticks in opposite direction turns into a cross,
The rightest of the right can turn into a wrong.

The littlest of the wasp can turn your skin blue,
The yellowest of the day can turn to hue.

The prettiest pink lotus always grows in mud,
All perfect paintings start with a smudge.

The sweet voiced cuckoo too by August is gone,
The reddest of the roses also have thorns.




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