day six: no real measure

there is no real measure
no gauge, no gadget, no device to show
but when it goes missing
anyone will know

the sun gets darker
proud birds no longer fly
they squat on filthy pavement
as in a daze, shuffling by

there's less joy in simplicity
living touch no longer warm
healing hand not there to pull the thread
where fabric has been torn

i became detective
to find what it might be
that's missing in the underbrush
or maybe lost at sea

they took it to emergency
and strapped it to a bed
with meters humming, doc explains
it's all just in our head

but when it goes missing
purgatory's colder
it's wanting for a warmer coat
and the feel of getting older

some say it's what completes the soul
some look for it only from above
but it's known well when it's here again
and this they call it love