There Is A Garden In Her Face,
Where Roses And White Lilies Blow;
A Heavenly Paradise Is That Place,
Wherein All Pleasant Fruits Do Grow.
There Cherries Grow That None May Buy,
Till Cherry Ripe Themselves Do Cry
Sometimes we must get hurt in order to grow,
we must fail in order to know,
Sometimes our vision clears only after our
eyes are washed away with tears.
