The Way of Love

He grips
Drifts and wisps
Mingled as a mane
The lion owns the plain

She grows
With soft blows
Takes care to rescind
Love the way of the wind

They dare
Own a share
Of a sight unseen
In a land few have been

One can
Flame the fan
Allowing the spread
If kept in one’s own head

Each bend spells the end
Which is best for the rest










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