Some 6pm hour,
Students busying in their academe.
Uneasy glances that flutter and drift,
I wonder if all there is, is as it seems.
Mature love says, “I trust you to do the right thing.” Immature love says, “You need me to make me trust you to do the right thing.” Alas, most love fall into the latter category because with love comes certain unacknowledged rights which we tend to confuse with unwavering shower of affections.
” Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care; But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair. ” – The Clod And The Pebble, William Blake