Love;
a poignant bud in the nectars of one\'s life,
A bud filled with mystery,
Forsaken;
like a dry fir.
A bud when fed;
becomes a pie of goodness to a life,
How does a bud-
Blooms-
And;
other withers?
What kills a bud and brings it back to life?
Only a Farmer-
In the gardens of love-
Can know how,
A bud cometh to be-
The waves of life-
Like a Tsunami-
Had dreaded a man\'s wit.
A bud;
that grows like a child,
And dies like an adult,
Weary of life.
One seeks love in a pure soul.
Not a damaged soul-
But Love itself-
Does not demand a soul;
Of its good or bad nature.
Love-
Demands persistence and strength,
For one to carry its,
supposed burden.
But Love-
Is neither a burden;
Or punishment,
For it offers;
kindness and acceptance for those who open their hearts.