It must be love

It must be love
Makes the sap in the willow run dry.
It must be love
That turns the sapling to lifeless wood.
It must be love
That saps my veins of the tears I cry –

It must be love,
And love can do us no good.

It must be love
Makes the gull on the wind’s back cry.
It must be love
Makes his dull eyes glint after food.
It must be love
Makes his nest-bound chick fall, or fly –

It must be love,
And love can do us no good.

If one could only live like a toadstool;
An inkcap, sheltered by a tree in a wood.
To die in bloated self-sufficiency,
Or hardened to the stranger’s touch – but no,
Love comes like a wind to scatter the spores –
Love can do us no good.