Love No other little four letter word Has ever meant so much Or, to some, so very little You see I believe Everyone thinks of love At least once in their so called Meaningful existence But their opinion of love Is as different and unique As the tips of their very fingers Some think of love And see the whole nine yards A husband and family Standing behind that freshly painted White picket fence So often only dreamed about Others think of love And can't help but to picture Themselves forever burning In the pits of hell itself For they have come to believe That to be in love is to be in hell Many manage to find A median between the two extremes They believe that their perfect person Is out there to be found But at the same time Understand that they may never meet Or live their happily ever after dream But I . . . I think of love And all I can do is picture you Because in you I've found All the love and meaning I'll ever need to make my life co
.The compilation of my soul.