Love is not always the meeting of minds
Of wild throbbing bodies or the closing of blinds.
Love can be simple, sweet and so safe
Like the fire in a hearth to a poor starving waif;
The tear of a child for the doll she can see
And knowing her own it never can be.
But the smile when she feels her mother’s warm hand
Is a love that’s true , a love that's so grand.
© 1996 J. Robert Whittle