The rose without its thorn is not a rose
the heart without its ache is not a heart
the stream's no more a stream unless it flows
the plum's hardly a plum except it's tart
that mirror is a mirror which displays
whatever face or form you place before it
the mirror of the heart likewise arrays
a floral vision when you fetch a floret
the path of love seemed easy quoth Hafez
at first until the obstacles kicked in
who hasn't felt the truth in what he says?
who doesn't know the tumult of the spin?
when heart goes reeling in its twirl of trouble
the dream of easy love pops like a bubble