I thought once love was something to be earned—
Be this, do that, and love will be returned.
But love's not currency, nor a resource—
It flees demands, and withers under force.
It comes where it is pleased to come, and goes
According to its heart, which no one knows.
Love has no ledgers, does not deal in debt—
Seeks truths our minds have not suspected yet.
Requires freedom, chooses where to bleed—
Cannot be traded, sold, or guaranteed.
So I've stopped thinking it can be deserved;
I saw love come in grace, in grace it served.
Now I serve love, and go where I am led
Till love be me, and I be love instead.