In realms where hearts are tender, love weaves its gentle art,
A gift bestowed upon us, a treasure in every part.
With grace it softly whispers, like a breeze in summer's eve,
A symphony of solace, the beauty we receive.
Love's hands are ever open, reaching out in tender care,
Embracing souls in need, a balm for hearts that bear
The weight of sorrow's burden, the ache of life's despair,
Love's touch, a gentle promise, a refuge pure and rare.
In laughter, it's a melody, that dances in the air,
A spark that lights the darkness, a warmth beyond compare.
It lifts us up on wings of joy, to heights we've never known,
And in its radiant presence, we find a love that's grown.
Yet love is not a possession, to hoard or keep confined,
It's a river ever flowing, an endless well to find.
For love's truest measure lies not in what it receives,
But in the selfless giving, the hearts it truly frees.
With love, we heal the broken, mend wounds that time has scarred,
We share our deepest blessings, extending hope unmarred.
In every act of kindness, love's seeds are sown and sown,
And through its boundless power, a world of love is grown.
So let us be the vessels, the bearers of love's flame,
Illuminate the shadows, let love be our only aim.
For in this precious journey, where souls are joined as one,
We find the greatest gift of all—the gift of love, undying and never done.
