What is Love?

In the bustling streets where whispers flow, I asked the sage with wisdom's glow, "What is Love, this fervent fire's woe?" He mused, "It's the river's gentle tow, A dance of souls where passions grow, But beware, for it can wound and throw." In the tavern's haze, where spirits pour, I asked the drunkard, his thoughts of adore, "What is Love, this intoxicating lore?" He slurred, "A flame that burns to the core, A sweet madness, a tempest's uproar, Yet it leaves you empty, wanting more." In the scholar's chamber, books in row, I asked the thinker, with mind aflow, "What is Love, this mystery to know?" He pondered, "A theorem, an endless show, A paradox, with it's highs and lows, Merged in unity, as life bestows." In the heart's corners, where feelings grow, I asked myself, in introspective tow, "What is love, does its essence show?" I felt, "A painting, where colors flow, A field where emotions doth Cupid sow, A journey of self, where one does grow." Thus, Love is not merely a word to throw, But a complex weave of sighs and brow, A blend of laughter's joy and tears that flow, In our hearts, its true essence we know, For it is our way of Love, to which it does bow, That makes Love what it is, our eternal vow.