Jack Scott writes

Adopting a Puppy

When I think of love 
death must come to mind, 
for all love dies.

Love is like the flu. 
We suffer all its symptoms 
until it goes away 
or nearly kills us 
while we wish that we were dead.

I’d not want to face my death, 
never having suffered love. 
I’ll not need to mourn 
if I have loved completely 
and been loved enough.



Man Flu -- Michael Abrams