You like the rose—so you pick it,
You love the rose—so you let it live.
But thieves of hearts never learn the difference—
They break the stems, then wonder why fragrance dies.
No garden grows where hands are selfish,
No summer stays where roots are careless.
For what you like, you take in your palm,
But what you love, you become its sun.
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Author:
Mottakeenur Rehman (
Online)
- Published: July 31st, 2025 05:18
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 1
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