Love Is Like A Strange Beggar

Love is like the wind, Said Honore de Balzac; Love wanders in the fields, On the bed of the lake, In the shore and in the drift. Love strolls in the streets, Like an unorthodox beggar, Like an errant craze, In the blue of the ocean. It is a stone launched by a toddler, In the forest, that picks a sapodilla, Or that breaks the head of a city dweller Collecting mangoes in the meadow. Love is a game of chance, It is a chameleon, a lizard, That changes at any time, Continually and oddly; Sporadically and dishonestly. Love is the smile of the children, The passionate gaze of two lovers, The memory of erotic moments, The nostalgia of exotic flowers. Love and madness are alike, Like two leaves which tremble In autumn and winter, When all dream of being green.