And so I cried for Love, it's Love I cried,
In fathoms like an ocean pure and wide,
And who on Earth can, lucky, say they find,
The juicy pulp of Love, its fertile rind,
What laurels are there beautiful enough,
To crown Love's skies, paint them like Van Gogh,
It's as if a mystery to, sultry, spy,
Into truth of her priceless charity,
And so I ride Love's chariot, in to day,
And see saints and angels going on their way,
Weaving Love like golden, magic threads,
Between us going soft with gentle treads,
And who of us can say they've fathomed more,
Than Love, irresistible to adore,
Love a pure and rarest of all oceans,
For Love is life and life a sweet devotion,
And so I cried for Love, no treasure vain,
For passion's flower blossoms for Love's rain,
Who would forgo her tribulations, pains,
For Love without suffering fakes, it feigns,
To be a truism when it's known by all,
That to be lift by love one must first take tumble, fall,
Till Love's light shines, a beatitude hath us rapt in thrall,
Her dearth does the righteous mind appall,
But luscious Love does ever find its way,
To Hearts all charred and scarred by their dismay,
With her music in their hearts the saints uproar,
It's impossible to tell who's singing more,
Her Psalms and pieties to soul devote,
A blessed one never by Love smote,
For being the most ravishing of babes,
Not dark could sully him, nor ravages of age.