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Soaring above the softly written lyrics,
Cerebrally, dreamlike in its character,
Flitting around, tantalizing dreamers all
To search for its wonders, in every niche.
Whilst pragmatics dub the notion dubious,
Disregarding the high tales of prevalence,
Coining them the concoctions of fabulists,
Placing them in the genre of fantasy.
All the while, only doing a great favor
For this mystifying essence, that does exist.
Reposing, safe in its abode, for all time,
Only allowing entrance to those star crossed,
Worthy fellows and dames, choice in all aspects.
These noble few may read amour, book of love,
Written only in the hearts of the finest.
And in the end, true love, laced with perfection,
Rarest of gems, lone in splendor and beauty,
Found echoing, resonating throughout life.
Speaking of those who have reveled in its bliss,
Vivifying an epoch ineffable.
Praised throughout antiquity in melody,
Unparalleled, innately anomalous.
Love, boundless, without fault, and ageless. True love.