Call me, love

What is love to me?
Is it hidden in the morning trees,
Or does it, like a bird, take flight?
Is it in the hands of your delight,
Or perhaps it only comes at night?
When you're down and weary,
Lost within an empty fight,
Call me, love—
I’ll hold you in my arms, that is.

And if I die, will I become a story,
Like I heard it—someone say?
Or will I live another morning,
In the hope of all your might?

What is love to me?
I ask and hope you answer,
In the days there are to come,
When we together hold the answer,
Will it ever be confirmed?
Show me gentle mornings,
Soft like summer nights.
And if you’d know the answer,
Whisper it to me at once.
And if I find it on a random Tuesday,
Hidden there between the dimming lights
There will be no doubt about it
That you can call me - love.