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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 aching need.
I say love it is a flower,
and you its only seed.

Itís the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance.
Itís the dream afraid of waking
that never takes the chance.

Itís the one who wonít be taken
who cannot seem to give,
and the soul afraid 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 beneath the bitter snows,
lies the seed that with the sun's love,
in the spring becomes the rose.



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Last Up-Date   11/12/2006 09:46:42 PM