XII. Some say that love’s a little boy W. H. Auden

Some say that love's a little boy,
        And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go round,
        Some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
        Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
        And said it wouldn't do.

    Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
      Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
    Does its odour remind one of llamas,
      Or has it a comforting smell?
    Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
      Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
    Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
      O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it
        In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
        The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
        Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
        The backs of railway guides.