The Rose

Some say love it is the river
that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love it is the razor
that leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love it is a hunger
an aching endless need.
I 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 a chance.
It's the one who won't 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.

I do not know who wrote this poem, The Rose,  but my thanks
go out to them as it has touched many hearts.