There is thought-out love first
And then the love that is nothing but feelings
And then there are all the things
Love actually gets done in a day
Even when the thought of love
Whatever you make of it
Is all you think about each night
The thought toward which all
The others inevitably fall
And even if what you feel
Is the tenderest joy
It's possible to feel
Still only the third one matters
Which is the love of the other two
The quarrelsome and lonely loves
Who don't know what to do
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