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Inconvenient
Love
By Marcus
B. Christian
Love
is an inconvenient thing --
Out
of nowhere it slips,
And
grows into something that saves or slays,
Or
something that binds or grips;
And
it sets a seal upon one's lips.
Love
has its own peculiar way --
Knowing
its own blind art;
Bending
strong souls like reeds to the wind,
And
then -- when it does depart --
Stamping
in frantic and frenzied pain
A signet upon one's
heart. *
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