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Tue, Dec. 08, 2015 Posted: 02:06 AM

Passion is like a forest fire,
Roaring through the forest floor,
Flames leaping high and higher,
Devouring all that was before.

But love is like a gentle breeze,
Caressing forest leaves and trees
And like a hidden stream
Watering everything.

Passion is spent by its own excess,
Leaves only charred remains;
No more heat, no more flames,
Breathless, no more air, no more care.

But loves gentle breeze
Leaves everything the same,
Unspoiled, unscorched, unspent,
Undetered to breathe loves air again.

Passion is like strained tea leaves,
In a sieve weak, tasteless, spent,
Or like a cigarette, puffed and blown,
Gone, to ashes went

selwyn perry