My favorite gifts
come with no strings attached
No favors expected
No backs to be scratched
And this, I believe, is what love is
For otherwise
what have we done
but substituted one for one?
And there is little room to grow
when bound by rules
of quid pro quo
One day perhaps I'll live to see
mysterious doors at last unlatched
And I will learn to give myself
without a single string attached
For that, I believe, is what love is
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