The Rose

Some say love, it is a river that drowns the tender reeds. Some say love, it is a razor that leads your soul to bleed. Some say love, it is a hunger, an endless aching need. Some 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 a soul, afraid of dying that never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely and the road becomes 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 with the sun's love in the spring becomes the rose.