I watch people go in and out
all evening long at work,
And none are so beautiful as you.
You ask me about my love life?
With most every flower there's a thorn
But with no one there's emptiness
I ask you, which could be worse?
How does my love grow?
With every new field or garden,
With trust and love in God,
With children and the dawning day,
With things done by my own hands.
I do not search for love,
I am love.
ZCMI 1/74
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