For something that can't be found,
Something that everyone miss uses,
And tramples on the ground.
Its drug through the mud,
Its lied for personal gain,
Its a thing of the past,
Its caused so much pain!
I'm skeptic to if its even real,
Or if it a thing of the past,
One thing is for sure,
This day and age it don't last.
It supposed to be pure,
Like the heart of a dove,
Like new born for a mother,
This thing they call love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem