Love is the thing with fruits
That nourishes in the hearts
And beats the drum with timing
And never stops beating.
And the fruits are tasted
And the seeds must be planted
That could show love is right
And that would have a bountiful harvest.
I've seen it in the widest farmland
But I've heard it at the mangrove shore
That the fruits were covered sure
By the drum-beating harvest of a sincere hand.