My Love

I used to think I knew what love was,
Deceiving for sure- that's what seeing is,
What if my conceptions of love are wrong?
And what if reading is the seeing I have done?

I question myself from time to time,
Try it- it does not cost a dime,
All this to fit my new stones with the line,
To step out of the darkness into the light.

What I know bares heavy on my back,
I converse with others to relief its burden,
When misunderstood, I tend to cry,
Cheers, to this heartless token.

My heart feels- that I know for sure,
Contrasting emotions- it doth endure,
My love, my love,
What is my love?

I've never confessed my love to my beloved,
The first time I tried to, the white dove flew away,
My love, my love,
O what is my love?

It is the simple softness
Of a birds light feather,
It is the ferocious quiet anger
That accompanies a tiger.

My love, my love,
O what is my love?

It is the unwavering patience
Of trees,
It is the undying dedication
Of bees.

My love, my love,
I've never confessed my love to my beloved.