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And suddenly she realized there would always be those who laughed at love, who sneered at it, who mocked it, tried to make it something fleeting and negligible like an itch; and there would be those who believed in it, in its mystical power, its purity, its inability to do wrong, its power to heal — against all evidence, against all odds.
And all the time love would move among us, touching unbelievers and believers alike, the way the same buttery sun of springtime touches a soft-cheeked laughing toddler in the park and flows over a sleeping tramp — dark and grizzled —illuminating the weave of his jacket, the skin beneath his stubbled beard — love, incorruptible and kind, moves among us always.
Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Romero
Love(ly).
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Yes, the poem is lovely.
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