A man must love
and he must not
see the world for only its beauty,
Witnessed with fleeting thought
But what is love?
Is it to fall?
Some will say they never felt it at all.
Is it the flight of many doves?
bells chorus in the distance?
I believe I must think,
I must toil.
I must ponder this, for awhile.
As each man lives so will the question,
no man can answer without good direction.
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