If I should allow such a nameless bloom
To please mine eyes with all the nurturing,
I would have found what's being kept--a room
To house all of it--more than just a thing
To settle with, hold on, or throw away
From out the rush of the sluggish awhile
The growth no longer needs a constancy.
But where a sight has crossed the distant miles
Is why the urge to find it all the more!
There it lodged in deep down within one's chest
Or something that pricks the mind's very core
And things will be restored like all the rest.
If I could own a thing that I should have:
It must be, like all of us thus need, love.