It is scorching ice, it is freezing fire,
It is a painful wound that doth not ache,
A sweet dream, but bitterness when awake,
It is a brief repose that dosh so tire.
A careless moment that doth care acquire.
It is a coward who brave name doth take,
A lonely walk among the crowd a quake,
A loving just to be loved, nought higher,
It is freedom to a prison cell lured,
That endures unto everlasting life,
An illness that worsens if it's cured.
This young Cupid, his abyss is rife,
To all kinds of friendship he is inured.
He whom paradox has riven with strife.