The Rose

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

When the heart is afriad of breaking, that never learns to dance.
When the dream is afriad of waking, that never learns to take the chance.
It's the one who won't be taken, who cannot seem to give.
And the soul afriad of dying, 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 beneathe the bitter snow.
Lies the seed that with the sun's love in the spring becomes the rose.

What is love?
What if there is an answer to it?

http://www.liveyourmark.org/pos/index.html

Cheers.