Gradually we hate what we loved
Since love cannot be loved alone.
Every land that stretches out next to love
Is dry; nothing but dry stone.
All that sleeps and wakes next to love
Is not love. You cannot find
In the dust of the adjoining land’s dry air
One thing which resembles your mind
When you were young and loved everything in there.
Now love is only one of many things.
Just a sigh. Just something that sings.
Love still makes the same sounds,
But now it’s surrounded, not a force that surrounds.
Remember? Love loved in your sight and breast.
Love was the reason, and the reason for all the rest.