Busied not with strife, entertainment, lies and repeated agony of flattery

What beauty is in Love
These Poets know

When the wet rain is touched and not the ironed out stiffness
When the tear is held and not the ill-bred-noise
The fingers bent another way with an unwrit, observed
A fold less on the morning’s greeting to the evening, pressed upon

Where lovers engage in loving

What beauty is in loving
These poets know

If were none to love
These Poets would yet love-
The loving
of none to love
Yet!