Love, dear friends, is blind.
Blindness leads to stumbles, falls,
Dragging, sorrowful, through the muck and mire
Of a world not want of us, or us of it.
We rise to only again find our knees
Until, alas, we have not the strength
With which to stand. Only to bow,
Humbled before the mighty power
Of all that hath been lost.
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