Greener Pastures

No love enfolds perfection, each
Less prized for being now in reach:
This one too fast, this one too scared,
This one in error both souls bared,
This one too much a passion play,
This one in silence drifts away,
This one like ice reflecting stars,
This one just glimpsed through iron bars,
This one two friends without a fire,
This one that burns is quick to tire,
This one with melancholy laced,
This one with heavy sugar glazed.
No love enfolds perfection, though
Each is still love, and better so.

--Megan Morris, meikundayo@yahoo.com