There is only that one, the weak one preserved,
despite all of the talk, cheap and perverse.
The one that loved without reserve,
the one often wasted by a quick reverse.
It seems a gift given at the moment of birth
like fire and water, air and the earth,
a growing knowing of what will usurp
a life fulfilled or a common felt dearth?
That first breath shared, in which we ceased the search
and found in that one, our true sense of mirth.