The sin perhaps that God ought not forgive
Is taking love then sending it astray.
For all the many days that man might live
Love seems to form some wages worth the pay.

The greatest gifts that we might send our mates
Denies not them the freedom to say "bye".
But when those exercised become our fates
Nevertheless we weep and wonder why.

The heavy heart that e'er has won fair maid
Is bold and fragile oft' beyond compare.
Yet filled with strength and courage that's been played
It breaks apart but from the slightest tear.

So, why, my fine found friends, counsel ye thus,
A life bereft of love ain't worth the fuss?

12 July 2005