Is it to belief that Love is like coals?
Hot when hot, and cold when cold?
That what is black can shine brighter than known,
And yet turn to ash, and in the wind be blown?

Or might I say it is the blade of grass
That makes itself known, and leaves but with you unatoned
How it bends when bent, and veers where sent,
But never abiding too long to pay rent

What can it be called, other than what is unknown?
Invisible that is visible, but invisible to we who are visible,
A Mystery it is until with simplicity, the eyes see;
Strange and unprecedented this anachronism does seem-

But to I who knows little, yet master of much known-
Love Is like the shade the tree throws over in the Summer Sun;
Found or unfound, it remains the same as it was,
The cool anomaly that brings rest from the mid-day Sun.
Mark Dela