Men write, men speak, send deeds through space and time.
Throughout the world these deeds oft reappear,
'midst fiery words of eloquence, I find
I'm caught in major barriers, hate and fear.

We fight disease and rid ourselves of pain
We tour the moon and universe above.
We fight our wars from which we seldom gain.
We do great things, but lack the gift of love.

I know, sent from above, how well I know
the words I write, or think, or things I do,
can matter little if love fails to grow,
a love that is sincerely deep and true.

So, I must write of love for all that be,
a love for all mankind, for you, for me.