This is not Love, perhaps, <br />Love that lays down its life, <br />that many waters cannot quench, <br />nor the floods drown, <br />But something written in lighter ink, <br />said in a lower tone, something, perhaps, especially our own. <br /> <br />A need, at times, to be together and talk, <br />And then the finding we can walk <br />More firmly through dark narrow places, <br />And meet more easily nightmare faces; <br />A need to reach out, sometimes, hand to hand, <br />And then find Earth less like an alien land; <br />A need for alliance to defeat <br />The whisperers at the corner of the street. <br /> <br />A need for inns on roads, islands in seas, <br />Halts for discoveries to be shared, <br />Maps checked, notes compared; <br />A need, at times, of each for each, <br />Direct as the need of throat and tongue for speech.<br /><br />Arthur Seymour John Tessimond<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/not-love-perhaps/
