Why is my love for you, dyed in wool?
What is the hindrance to moving on?

Why in love have I been made a fool?
What’s been causing this oblivion?

Why is thought of you, ever-present?
What’s keeping me from forgetting you?

Why is the sight of you magnificent?
What’s it you possess than others few?

A slow fire burns deep within me,
And keeps my curiosity at high

I question these puzzles so direly,
To philosophy, a pleasure – wry

If all life has led me to this point,
To make me but a mere proponent

Then, from this day to my last moment,
Just you and love, are my argument.

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