Love's Trail...

If the Sun must but sear,

A river in spate, flood,

One cannot, you'd fear,

Nip a valid ire in its bud.

Then again, a valid ire?

What kind of anger is it?

Where on a fiery pyre,

Would you yearn to sit?

Yes, the imagery is old,

Our ignorance, as dark,

And we continue to hold,

What needs but a spark.

What could be the sap,
That'd resist the flame?

Would a heart in a flap,
Be at peace, all the same?

Is there no other way,
Than to seek that grail?
In word, it's a cliche,
Yet, love's left no trail.