If "Hope is the thing with feathers",
Then love is the one with petals
that must be held with care,
and pricks it's victims wisely
to whoever dare come near,
Wilted will it quick become
when sunlight hides it's face,
Still a flurry carries
it's fresh passion and it's grace,
It finds a place to propagate
and will always be desired,
For loneliness evaporates
on the blessed land that find it.
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