Love is nae a fragile thing,
Aye it's made of solid stuff.
You cannae make demands of it;
It doesnae work, devoid of trust.
Many words we give tae it,
Ah dinnae ken them all.
We dae this tae communicate.
Our feelings when we in it fall.
It doesnae come in one type
But in infinitely more;
One lassie feels its sudden rush,
Or edging soft, like waves at shore.
It doesnae look at class or colour;
Too many of us dae in life.
Nae care has it, as us, for wealth;
As strong in sickness as it is in health.
There's some who seek overtly,
And those who merely glance around.
But who among us would reject,
It in its truest form if found.
For me it is a matter,
Of purely heart and not of head.
If fake will try to tie you down;
If real will set you free instead.