Love
It is an age- old vicious virus of a kind,
Ever invisible ,alluring ,invasive and sly ,
Posing to be a treat from the high sky ,
Blessing with bliss the heart and the mind ;
The febri-fit has its symptoms to find :
Vivid ,latent,obverse ,or perverse in close ally ,
Cloy in a way,yet aye leave the throat dry ;
And Time deserts the desolate victim far behind ;
Immunity brings forth expressions in disguise ,
Or structures ,souvenirs and memorials eternal ;
The losers are all set to be in a dark doom,
Unless they sense self- love and not despise ;
Life from nativity , through the time vernal ,
By Nature's rule has to stay in full and bloom .
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