What Must be Felt

There is a feeling that’s hard to describe

You can read the attempts by poets and scribes

Or have it sung by a sage so old and so wise

But it’s sort of like speaking of color with no eyes

How would I describe this love?

Before I die, I feel I must try

It’s a gift from the stars above

The stardust inside that lets us both laugh and cry

And look into each other’s pupils

Surrounded by an iris

Green like grass of the Irish

This love poem is looking for loopholes

Cuz what can really be said

Of what must be felt and not read

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