The Prophet Poem

The Prophet

Love has no other want yet to satisfy itself.
Be that as it may, on the off chance that you adore and should needs have wants, let these be your wants:
To dissolve and resemble a running creek that sings its tune to the night.
To know the agony of an excess of delicacy.
To be injured by your own particular comprehension of affection;
What's more, to drain energetically and euphorically.
To wake at day break with a winged heart and offer gratitude for one more day of adoring;
To rest at the twelve hour and ruminate love's delight;
To return home at eventide with appreciation;
And after that to lay down with a petition for the adored in your heart and a tune of acclaim on your lips

by Kahlil Gibran