Uneven odds: that’s what I’d give this thing called love.
At best, it’s quite a chancy undertaking.
Offering heart and soul into another’s hands
Could so easily be heartache in the making.
But then, again, if one refuses constantly
To take a chance that odds are in his favor,
If he never once succumbs to vulnerability,
He’ll never find a love that he can savor.
So what then is the answer to this need for love?
Perhaps another poet’s words are worth recall. *
Uneven odds may mean a lover suffers loss,
But better that than never to have loved at all.
* “In Memoriam A.H.H.” Canto 27. Alfred Lord Tennyson
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