The Taste of Wits
Love is a word , sung by the arts ,
with no blood and life , attracts every heart,
love in the sense , attract a great Mozart ,
making itself fake , at last , like a dart .
It starts to hate , hate the brut star ,
the reason of your wounds , the pain of those scars ,
triumph leads to life , but disaster leads to war ,
know you the reason , why am I so far .
I have seen love , from the time of birth ,
having faces of - joy and mirth ,
tasting a bit - the taste of joy ,
tasting milk or bars , whether a girl or a boy.
Whom shall I tell , the story to share ,
taste it by every buds , but even take care ,
love seems very sweet , but bitter after its taste ,
bitter makes it very hard , life in waste .
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