The Rose

Amanda McBroom

Some say: Love it is a river, that drawn the tenderly.
Some say: Love it is a razor that lease your soul to bleed.
Some say: Love it is a hunger, an endless acing near.
I say: Love it is a flower, and you its only seed.

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

When the night has been too lonely and the road has been to long.
When 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 suns love
IN THE SPRING BECOMES THE ROSE;

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