still pulling within the yoke we share,
despite increasing mud, steeper hills,
and additional weight.
for derisive snorts at the word
printed boldly on the yoke - "love."
were thick and soft on our shoulders
when we gladly slipped it on,
before they wore thin with time
and hardened oak now cuts the skin.
why we remain in stays
when we each hold keys that could set us free.
And wonder at ambiguous words
printed in script on the keys - "love."
with a simple click,
run free away to greener fields
identified, again, somehow as "love."
of clover, warm, relaxed,
but watching with unexpected discomfort
as wagons struggle slowly away
in the distance.
and catch your eye.
I want to ask if you have
any better idea than I
what means this driving word -