Sometimes I wonder what it means to appreciate.
Admiration is but a feather in the cap, not a display
of affection or worship. People certainly can hate
what they envy. What if love is just simply play?

Suppose appreciation is love and love is frolicking
in the grass on a hot summer's day or sharing secrets
no one knows and wishes to understand or singing
for no one and the world to hear on a bright lighted stage.

Who defines, precisely, what love means to me?
If my brain thinks for me, how can my heart know?
Maybe love is one and the same with happiness
or perhaps honesty originates the whole of it.

Occasionally a problem is too complex to work out.
I consider the idea that love isn't meant to be work
in any form at all. We shall never cease to wonder,
yet somewhere inside, you and I know the answer.