Small The Bud
Love is of itself an entity,
Never knowing when it's touch will be.
Hate appears, a sentiment as well.
Predators of love in consort dwell.
Cunning with intentions unrevealed.
Spiteful in its malice to conceal.
Speak the truth to know a friendship's birth,
Legacy of trust, proclaims your worth.
Time for all who live is all too brief.
Shun beguiling paths that lead to grief.
Look beyond impressions you assume.
Small the bud, so beautiful the bloom.
Copyright © Gene Bourne | Year Posted 2014