A bird in the branches sings a tune,
His lungs and his throat are straining hard;
His song is an aria pure as gold,
A call to his mate that time is ripe:
It’s love.
A sow in the sty with litter large
Wallows in dirt, and grunts and grunts;
A score of small piglets fight for place
Where food supply is the line of life:
It’s love.
A girl awaits in a darkened door,
With expectation shine her eyes;
Shivers of pleasure through her body flow,
The night and her lover is all she lives for:
It’s love.
A money lender counts the crumpled notes,
The day brought profits large enough to please;
His fingers like the claws of a bird of prey
Close upon the paper, and his eyes gloat:
It’s love.
A man deadly wounded dies in a field;
A war which was just he helped to fight:
The man of the Mighty at his body kneels
And prays for the passport to eternal life:
It’s love.
A child in the stillness of a starry night
Utters a cry because of a bad dream;
Awake is its mother like a lightning flash,
Her hands bring the peace to the frightened heart:
It’s love.
The world on its axis turns to sun;
Time passes by, with no return;
Hate gives its people fight and might:
What gives them hope for a better life?
It’s love.
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