Love is always bestowed as a gift - freely, willingly and without expectation. We don't love to be loved; we love to love.
The Gardener LXI: Peace, My Heart
by Rabindranath Tagore
Peace, my heart, let the time for
the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a death but completeness.
Let love melt into memory and pain
Let the flight through the sky end
in the folding of the wings over the
Let the last touch of your hands be
gentle like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a
moment, and say your last words in
I bow to you and hold up my lamp
to light you on your way.