Love Can Be Fickle
Love can be fickle,
Coming and going
Like a mood.
An old maid's heart,
Never having known love,
Is stone.
Some, having been loved,
But not truly,
Have closed the door
To their hearts.
Romance,
A special kind of love,
Is fleeting.
It comes in waves;
It can be soft and tender,
Then grow hard and cold.
Ah, love--
We think we feel it;
We think we know it.
But it can't be caged,
And like a kept bird,
May escape
And fly away.
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