Fourteen lines, a tale of love or loss,
Of nature’s hand or man’s unyielding cross.
Two quatrains lay the groundwork for two,
Where rhyme doth intertwine, entwined and true.

But as the third stanza opens, like a flower
Unfurling petals to the morning hour,
A shift in tone—like sunlight breaking through
The clouds of storm that gathered in the view.

In the last couplet, wisdom’s light we see,
Resolving doubts or truths, our hearts to free.