Those who know me, know I don’t write poetry. As you read this poem about experience you’ll see it is written by someone else. I found it on an old piece of paper without the author’s name. This poem will remain “author unknown.”
Experience
We must live through the weary winter, if we would value spring.
And the woods must be cold and silent,
Before the robins sing.
The flowers must be buried in darkness,
Before they can bud and bloom.
And the sweetest and warmest sunshine,
Comes after the storm and gloom.
So the heart, from the hardest trial,
Gains the purest joy of all.
And from the lips that have tasted sadness,
The sweetest songs will fall.
For as peace comes after suffering,
And love is reward of pain,
So after earth, comes heaven,
and of our loss, the gain.