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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 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.

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 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 winter snows
lies the seed that with the sun's love
in the spring becomes the rose.
Visit Jonathon Earl Bowsers web site:
http://www.jonathonArt.com
Hosted by www.Geocities.ws

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