“Love hurts”…Thus he went on
Professing love to us.
His tone always had a warning note
To us, his young envoys.
If love hurts, I whispered to myself
Why does he keep raving on and on
About the only feeling of love?
His beard was graying,
His skin was wrinkled,
His suit neatly pressed,
His shoes shining.
With the open book in hand,
His eyes searched those in front
And went out through the window
To the leaves in the breeze.
His face glowed in a delightful light
And he said, “It is better
To have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.”
His lips curled in a smile.
Love may hurt; I pondered,
But it still makes you smile.
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