love's happening is not through mortal reign-
it keeps the dandelions blanketed under snow
while somehow keeping branches stiff and strained
in winter's ice's crisp pale white glow
love's happening is not thing easily done-
it leaves the throat unquenched and dry
when words come with vain so that even one
can sink and drag those you hug so spry
love's happening is not for boys or girls-
all in age the gray can only beg and plead
that in their silvergolddiamond finger furls
there is a truth, an unfalse kiss to heed
love's happening is a thing
so cruel yet makes this poet sing
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