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Splendors and Splinters

Love is a many-splendored thing
They say that, but I don’t
Even know exactly what a splendor is
But, from what I’ve seen?
I’d say that a splendor
Is like a splinter
Only lodged inside your heart, and not the bottom of your foot
Or the soft pad of your finger as
You try to fix the treehouse
Because your father is busy
It’s easy to take out a splinter
With minimal pain and crying
But it looks to me like it must hurt
To pull out a splendor
And if love is a many-splendored thing,
Then your heart must look like a pincushion when you are
In love





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