There is sadness in joy, joy in sadness;
we of the present moment, ebullient,
hear our laughter, like falling petals
perfumed with melancholy, so transient.
The sorrow of an imminent goodbye
lies in the taffeta of bliss it weaves.
There are a hundred reasons as to why
the branches grieve over its parting leaves.
From bittersweet ache is a knowledge born;
delight in despair can be found when lost.
Even as withering blooms seem forlorn,
it is to fruition they themselves exhaust.
Perhaps this suffering stems from us who
feel too much, too often, and far too true.
– Agnes Chew