What is this love, Agape Love?
The love, that God is made of?
It lives in the song of the dove,
Sprinkles down, from far above.
The love that we pretend to feel,
Not the true love that we conceal,
How then, do we know what's real?
It can soothe the heart to heal.
Where did it go, why did it leave?
So much here, is meant to deceive,
It's very simple, you must believe,
True feeling, will naturally conceive.
It can't be that hard, a life to fulfill,
Is it that moment; everything's still?
When I feel; that warm tingling chill?
You're beginning, to know, my will.
G.R. Gaus's Other Poems
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Agape by G.R. Gaus )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(31 March 1934 – 31 May 2009)
(January 6, 1883 – April 10, 1931)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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