Love Poem

Love Poem When often in the autumn-lighted rain When practicing fingers play upon my place A czerny etude. It is then I think Of early love, of middle love or late; Of the pain of the thing or its spiritual joy, Which runs from lie of it to peaks of truth, Of ego's burden and defense laid down Within the toys and swing sets of my rusty youth. The gamble of love is to take your trembling chance On the dice of another and their fortunes wheel. Open to sword and gun we remember risks That heart, onc e broken, never again shall heal. To be human you have to love but think of this The grave of love is deeper than its bliss And yet there are many who mourn where they have lain Would say the joy is greater than the pain. Carl Estrin