LOVE SONG

This, that I carry like a butterfly, Hesitantly, in my cupped and outstretched hands Is, of all things, small, But it is great in its demands And bears within itself a world of power.

I close my hand upon it, like a wall.

For this there can never be a proper time or season And, of all things upon this earth, It has the least to do with reason.

I open my hands slowly, bit by bit, prayerfully; This holds within it life, death, and birth. Used wrong, there is no harm this cannot do.

Look long, look carefully - This is for you.