Love’s not a house to be bought
nor a prize to be got
not a mountable beast
nor an expensive feast

Love’s not a race to be won
nor a task to be done
not a stamp to collect
nor gold to prospect

Love’s a library book
that every time makes us cry
or giving name and shape
to ***** of plasma in the sky

Love’s a little nook
that we can burrow if we try
a ceaseless spate
within which we will lie