Of Love

And now, of love, what shall I say?
Will it just pass like yesterday
That passes like the wind is gone
And leaves there nothing to hold on....

Love is the oak whose roots run deep.
A lasting truce whose trusses keep.
Forever fixed within its groove,
Love's like the mount that never moves.

Covering from the summer heat
And shelter from the winter winds
To find that, only, one true love
Is nothing less than a godsend.
(Written 2/2020 for Valentine.)

© 2020 Walterrean Salley