The Taste of Wits

Love is a word , sung by the arts , with no blood and life , attracts every heart, love in the sense , attract a great Mozart , making itself fake , at last , like a dart . It starts to hate , hate the brut star , the reason of your wounds , the pain of those scars , triumph leads to life , but disaster leads to war , know you the reason , why am I so far . I have seen love , from the time of birth , having faces of - joy and mirth , tasting a bit - the taste of joy , tasting milk or bars , whether a girl or a boy. Whom shall I tell , the story to share , taste it by every buds , but even take care , love seems very sweet , but bitter after its taste , bitter makes it very hard , life in waste .