She sits upon the couch and knits a quilt
He whittles spoons of wood for his true love
A quilt of many layers she has built
The spoon is carved to emulate a dove
It's all for blessed love, the dolls, the spoons
For love alone we conquer many lands
Love is the source of many of our tunes
And love alone makes many human clans
Ah, love, true love accounts for much we do
The quilts, the spoons, the many forms of man
Our world, our lands, the very words we spew
Are traceable to love, or else to Pan
We humans fall in love, becoming bound
And find beauty alone makes life profound
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