How do we know?

And how do we know?
Know when the end is near;
when the ebb and the flow
cease, and the past is clear,
and how to go on
when she is gone?

How do we know we love?
Know when it is not mere lust;
as passion rises high above
our will, and we must
in time surrender even love?

And how do we know?
That the memories endure;
and time's wingèd arrow
will not stain what was pure
with the heart's bright blood
leaving us lost in the flood?

We cannot, in truth know.
For wherever time may lead
us, and wherever we go
only as we love and need
love in return can we heal
and our hearts truly feel,