Oh What Is This Thing Called Love
Oh, what is this thing called love?
It's a concept I don't understand.
Delight that occurs at first sight?
Or can it be carefully planned?
Is it something that lasts for all time,
or will it run into the sand?
Would Priapus profit from praise,
or should he be promptly trepanned?
Is love as elusive as luck,
or can it be had on demand?
A candle that burns all alone,
or a flame to be furiously fanned?
Is love like a light in the soul,
that will last and endure and withstand?
Is it not just a chemical shot,
just a spurt or a squirt from a gland?
Does this love thing ennoble us all,
or should it be totally banned?
A danger to all it ensnares,
or something incurably bland?
A bonus and boon for mankind,
that ought to be loose in the land,
or a danger deserving restraint,
to be chained and detained on remand?
Oh, what's this enigma named love?
Allurement? Procurement? Command?
Will it harm me, or charm me, I ask:
should I fake it, or take it in hand?
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