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 end lessaching need.
I say love it is a flower,
and you its only seed.
Its the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance.
Its the dream afraid of waiking
that never takes the chance.
Its the one who wont be taken,
who can not seem to give.
And the soul afraid of dyin
that never learns to live.
When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been too long.
And you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong.
Just remember in the winter
far beneath the bitter snow.
lies the seed that whit the suns love
in the spring becomes the rose.
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