Is it a vapor in the mist?
Is it a thing to be missed?
Is it worthy of our time,
Or even to be set to rhyme?
What is this thing we call love?
Does it descend in a Dove?
Is it something one might acquire?
Is it the crux of our desire?
Why is love such a giant topic,
When people seem to flip and flop it?

Some seem to know it not,
For no one ever fills their pot.
Yet some seem to be so overflowing,
That they seem so high their energy never stops flowing.
Oh, yet some seem to have little given to them in the end
Nevertheless they give and give till they can no longer bend,
Like an elastic stick that only bends so far
They break wherever they are.
Finally, a small group of beings seem to observe all the rest,
So in the end they have knowledge and wisdom that is the best.
- Tam al’Meir, the Observer