The blossom of love has withered
The Pessimist stands idly by.
Now an orchestra of thorns to travail,
Piercing and prodding the Optimist
Lamenting her destiny.
Stability endures
Balance replaces blossom
Love is a hope
Happiness is a dream
Resignation
She’s earned sunshine and bloom
A golden, bright statue built of love
Yet the Optimist waits, huddled in grey
Hoping Pessimists aren't Perennials
And for less gloom next season.
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