Does love come from the heart,
Or from the loins, or elsewhere
Inside? Maybe an ethereal part
Of us, where we sense and feel,
Love produced to cancel fear,
To comfort, connect, to heal.
Is love, like water in a well,
Always there? Can the well go dry?
Perhaps the love from others
Flow and combine to supply
An aquifer of compassion, from
Which we drink, on which we rely...
Love's flow never ending,
And we know neither how nor why.
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