Love can raise the Dead.
From young such I was taught.
Jack chopped down the beanstalk.
An apt equivalent.
Love grows tired and must rest,
Like Blunderbore after scoffing –
He woke, chased & fell to death
The thief and mother duly profiting.
Love is done when Love’s begun –
Apt, but slightly confused.
Who did love favour the sage was asked:
The giant or the thieving little brutes?