When love colours your thoughts and deeds, you are love;
by these things, it’s plain to see, one becomes what one has sought -
a veritable truth, an intuitive word, a song for days to pass by,
be love in old age, love in youth, love in sentiment, on sighs.
Love’s a parable for every era, soft as moss and hard to source,
yet so simply wept and long declared, the search though grim,
the lack or loss is worse.
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