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I used to wonder what love was all about.
Sometimes to cry, sometimes to shout.
A mysterious magical force it seems;
Troubling my waking hours, haunting my dreams.

For years I pondered and considered its hold,
How it made brave men fearful, and cowards bold.
A tremendous transformational force I thought,
One beyond all price that could never be bought.

Alone and lonely I wandered through life,
Berefit of girlfriend, lover or wife,
For how could I participate in what I did not understand?
How could I be a part of something so grand?

Fool that I was, fool that I still be,
Love is mystical and ever free,
It cannot be quantified or disected;
It cannot be rounded up and collected.

Ever growing, changing, ever new;
Tilting men's thoughts and plans askew.
Nebulous, formless, yet vital and real,
Crumpling resistance,altering how you feel.

Though I live a century, I'll never understand,
The magic generated by hand touching hand.
How emotion transforms into lifelong commitment,
How companionship brings lasting contentment.

Like most men I'll cluelessly stumble along,
I'll cover my weakness and pretend to be strong.
I'll admit love's mysteries are beyond my ken,
And focus on tomorrow, not what could have been.

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