Love

There's this street-corner word
that we all seem to need.
Some claim it's the root,
some the plant, some the seed.

You're not sure where you heard it,
just blowin' on the summer wind.
Maybe in the tabloids;
maybe on the lips of a friend.

But you know that you heard it,
not so sure you believe
in this fickle little word
that lives, dies, and grieves.

It seems to wrap around fingers
and twist up easy hearts;
it seems to scream of dreams and happiness,
and it seems to tear people apart.

It's in the summertime sky,
the one that sprawls over the grass.
It's in the pretty little icicles,
that make up Christmas glass.

It's holding hands on a warm, bright beach
or hugging in the foot-deep snow.
It's kissing pink-petal lips,
and playing with sandy toes.

It's in the new spring flowers,
and the pretty winged doves.
It's just a word, darling...
just the word "love".