Love

 

love is too trite a word,
too overused, misunderstood
too often begun with I,
too self-centered, too mixed up
with how it makes one feel,
too full of pride of my
God, my country, my family,
my house, my possessions,
too full of passion, lust, sex,
glamour, gold, fame, the claim
of being adored-no, more-worshipped.
Love is not a feeling, not a person,
not a possession, not a right,
it is an occupation
the principal business of one’s life
to care about the other,
to right wrongs when possible,
to cool a fevered brow,
to prepare a nourishing meal,
to guide, lead, push, critique,
rebuke, comfort, encourage,
to be faithful, loyal, always
setting free, to let the other
become the best they can be.

 

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