How long will you wait?
How shall you weigh?
How much will you twist it?
Or tweak it to suit some scale?
How much will you test it?
How long will you disapprove?
How much will you contort it?
And all because you have a silly point to prove.
How much more will you impurify it?
And muddle it with figments of your imagination?
How much will you reduce it?
In proportion to your time and inclination.
Who could ever understand it?
Or say how much was enough?
This is love.
Let it be if you can’t be it.
It’s only for the tough.
(For all the small things in life.)