A Sonnet: What Is This Heart?

A mansion where each person has a room
Whose foot hath threshold crossed and heart found home,
Where surely love's pure flower slow doth bloom
And waits for those who blithely now do roam.
For each will take his turn to fly away,
And many who have gone will not return.
But while, in other hearts, the feelings fade,
Here love is freely given and not earned.
Though many who have entered here have scoffed
And left their suite abandoned to the dust,
The mansion's keeper visits each room oft
And tends the fire there, because she must.
So if you enter in, please do your part,
For you will change forever this: my heart.