Love is just a song we think we wrote.
Expecting much, but never prizing more,
we seek to seize the vial, tip, and pour
the joy we want but never learn by rote.
Till one day, looking out beyond our moat
at cherry blossoms on the other shore
we see the longed-for things, once old and poor
that now shine perfect in their near-remote.
‘Tis then we find—and only in our need
a cross-roads bridge we never thought to know.
The way to pass our selfish, bitter flow.
And in that land, the sweets of earthly bliss
unite desire and goodness with a kiss,
the fruit eternal of that one great Deed.