John and Paul were right. All you need is love. The Beatles, not the apostles. To know unbounded love must be heavenly. Love that does not limit, inhibit, or prescribe. Why do we struggle so with it? When we love someone, we want to change them, make them something else! This is not love, but ownership. Once owned, you are a slave. Be free, own yourself first, and maybe later you’ll experience heaven on earth with another.

I once knew a girl whose name was Joy.
She was not; it was simply a ploy
to catch herself an unsuspecting boy
whom she could use and toss like a toy.

I thought I finally found the perfect man,
but when I loved him, like all the others, he ran!
I do not understand the fright of men
that keeps them escaping my loving pen.

I left her later for someone named Hope.
I must admit I did this only to cope,
being suddenly alone with only your phone
makes your home loneliness-prone.

Hope had needs that bound me like rope,
and pushing back was a slippery slope,
making her scream that she would elope
with the next man described in her horoscope.

Hush now baby, and continue to mope,
I love it when you are sad, and at the end of your rope.
It gives me purpose, it fills my scope and my head with trope
when I see another about to be without hope.

Some time later, I met a pretty woman called Peace.
A laid-back, modern hippie who was easy to please.
At first it was lovely and sweet, then it became boring and bleat. 
Eventually, she left, her head in the clouds, away, gone with speed.

Why is that once men come, I am always so ready go,
wanting again to live alone, quietly and slow.
I love them all, I miss each one, but in the end
I am only content being alone, because I am only for rent.

For a time, I lived by myself, happy to be back on the shelf.
I stopped looking and learned about cooking,  gardening, and myself.
Then a lady fair was suddenly there, and taught me something beautifully rare:
How to grow by giving, forgiving, serving, and living with care.

My name is Love, and I cover all, thin, fat, ugly, bitchy, or tall.
When I am there, all the imagined snare is laid bare, 
and the stare that compare is replaced with gentle care
that invites those who dare to share and maybe, just maybe, produce an heir.