Accord

Standard

Cannot force love before its time.

Let it come gently,

When,

So it be

Like a feather

Floats in time as it falls

Of its own sway and rhythm;

Its own accord.

When eager and fast hands try to clasp it,

Love,

Wishing to

Grab it out of impatience,

The air currents agitate

And stir keeping it just out of reach.

Evasive.

Find joy right where you are

Allowing things to flow

And come to rest where they may.

There, is love.

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