Love is, fools may say,
As a warm, softened kitten,
Mewing pitifully.
Gods-men may say it is the snake,
Poised venomously in the tree of knowledge,
Tempting gleefully into sin.
Some say it is a peacock,
Strutting high upon its perch,
But running away at the drop of a pin.
I say it is the owl,
Flying above on wings of terror,
And its glowing eyes turn to the grass,
To swoop down and
devour
that
***.