Some say Love it is a river,
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That drowns the tender reed.
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Some say Love it is a razor,
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That leaves your soul to bleed.
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Some say Love it is a hunger,
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An endless, aching need.
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I say Love it is a flower,
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And you it's only seed.
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It's the heart, afraid of breaking,
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That never learns to dance.
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It's the dream, afraid of waking,
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That never takes a chance.
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It's the one who won't be taken,
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Who cannot seem to give.
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And the soul, afraid of dyin',
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That never learns to live.
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When the night has been too lonely,
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And the road has been too long,
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And you think that Love is only,
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For the lucky and the strong,
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Just remember in the winter,
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Far beneath the bitter snows,
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Lies a seed that with the sun's Love,
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And the spring, becomes the rose.
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The Rose
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| Bianca Ryan |
