Never think; why roses got the thorn?
But must think; why it is so born?
No use of removing thorns from roses,
Each rose knows, no threat thorn poses,
Plucking the rose is not to save her,
She laughs on the lap of her mother,
Her lovely smile; the fragrance is for us,
“Along with Adam, from Eden did she rush? “
When Grandfather was restless for Eve,
He saw a bloomed rose wrapped with dew,
Then, saw thorns, which He had never seen,
“O my Lord! I was careless without keen”
O Angel of Eden, amid thorns you laugh to teach,
A preacher; only happiness that you always preach,
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