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If you call it love, 
It will cost you all.
It will last forever.
It will never fall.
It seeks to heal
Each bruised reed.
It only invites,
It will never plead.
For the cause of life,
It’s ready to die.
And its own interest,
It will always deny.
It’s not apportioned
By how it may feel.
It knows no bottom,
Always seeking to heal.
It’s always ready
To sit and wait.
Then showers forth
With an open gate.
It doesn’t aspire
For wealth or fame.
It does away
With guilt and shame.
It can’t go through
Arrogance or pride.
It seeks to bridge
Whatever may divide.
Love will carve
Each particle of sand.
Its strength is found
In its gentle hand.
It’s a gift of hope
For the oppressed and weak.
It’s the source of strength
For the humble and meek.
Its embers glow brighter
In the cold of winter.
It comforts your heart
Removing its splinter.
And all dark corners
In your heart will stay;
Less you give it permission
To take them away.
If you call it love
In hearts, it can’t stay.
Love is not love
Till you give it away.
poem by Dean Robinson
e-mail him about it at drobinson@sebesta.com
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