Love Never Dies
Should I write again of love?
Surely, by now, the moon
has had her full; and those
luxury cruses best put off,
taxes long overdue; besides,
those who love well
love well in a canoe--
which is precisely my point--
love is never through:
For the wind loves the bird---
that’s why he flies; as much
for the wind as his own
bird’s eyes; and why such
manic caw? Much like
our spastic cries—in the
climax of it all, he knows
even if he falls,
love never grows old…
and love
never dies….
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