Wipe the doubt upon your eyes,
For love, it does exist!
How can you see and still decline
At witness of a love like this?
Yes, the edges may be jagged,
The corners, frayed and torn.
The thread hangs like a convict’s noose
And the cloth is tired and worn.
But love is not an easy art.
It is not simply done.
Like any bearing of the heart
It is a battle fought, not won.
The colours may be bright, then grey,
Like the sea that fights a storm,
But underneath love's tapestry
We keep our bodies warm.
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