If ours alone to chart a
course unto the stars.
If but a day to seize a
breath of sunlit air.
If mere a touch of
earthly flame where
flesh was heartened innocent,
to give the fruit of
loin and womb as
gift to world
with no return, still,
there is love.
If toil adorned in mundane
shame and passing glory clashing,
fate and will each stubborn lorn,
more the way of suffering, still,
there is love.
If sight of mind blind to the real,
and vision yields to fade of eyes,
a mountain standing by unmoved,
and faith expires in darkened dread, still,
there is love.
If that of God were
but a thought
and heaven myth or
yon a dream,
if verse the lilt to
lift our hearts upon
this way of mystery, still,
there is love.