Three words and eight letters

Don’t write poems on love oh thee men!

Who do not follow desires of veins

for verily he who prospers is preserved from lust,

Greed and anger;

Paucity of faith and trust.

“Love” has lost its spark

Nothing more than some pixie dust,

I’ve found that it’s very easy to know what love is not;

Over the years, as I’ve searched for a definition of this must.

Look at Helen and Paris. Did they let anything come between them?

Didn’t they start the Trojan War?

“Love conquers all,” Aphrodite promised,

What we call “true love” today is that rare.

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