Love is a word akin to lies,
Easy to come and easy dies,
Most, a word, that is buried when,
The mistress decides for newer men.

Loves spouse, not true it is just dream,
Only a case of losing steam,
The worlds way of showing esteem,
The inward gush of some daydream.

Love is a word most men bury,
To be used when people marry,
Good today but it don’t tarry,
To confound the cemetery.

Love, creation day, was true,
But Satan changed the peoples view,
Hate, is what the Devil knew,
He, all creation, overthrew.

Love is a word akin to lies,
Lost at Eves first rendezvous,
Easy to come and easy dies,
And then it grew and grew and grew.

Most a word that is buried when,
When something earthly doesn’t please,
And that’s another question when,
Unless we say the Master sees.