速度 谢谢
Time was. Time is. Time shall be.
Man invented time to be used.
Love was. Love is. Love shall be.
Yet man never invented love,
Nor is love to be used like time.
A clock wears numbers one to twelve
And you look, and read its face
And tell the time precisely exactly.
Yet who reads the face of love?
Who tells love numbers precisely exactly?
Holding love in a tight hold for keeps,
Fastening love down and saying,
“It’s here now and here for always.”
You don’t do this offhand, careless-like.
Love costs. Love is not so easy,
Nor is it the shimmering of start dust
Nor the smooth flow of new blossoms
Nor the drag of a heavy hungering for someone.
Love is a white horse you ride,
Or wheels and hammer leaving you lonely
Or a rock in the moonlight for rest
Or a sea where phantom ships cross always
Or a tall shadow always whispering
Or a circle of spray and prisms –
Maybe a rainbow 'round your shoulder.
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