The rose



Some say love it is a river that drowns the tender reed. Some say love it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed. Some say love it is a hunger an endless achin‘ need. I say love it is a flower and you it’s only seed.

It’s the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance. It’s the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance. It’s the one who won’t be taken who cannot seem to give. And the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live.

Some say love it is a river that drowns the tender reed. Some say love it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed. Some say love it is a hunger an endless achin‘ need. I say love it is a flower and you it’s only seed.

When the night has been too lonely and the road has been too long that you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong. Just remember in the winter for beneath the bitter snows: lies the seed that with the sun’s love in the spring becomes the rose.

Some say love it is a river that drowns the tender reed. Some say love it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed. Some say love it is a hunger an endless achin‘ need. I say love it is a flower and you it’s only seed.