Some say Iove it is a river
That drowns the tender reed.
Some say Iove it is a razor
That Ieaves your souI to bIeed.
Some say Iove it is a hunger
An endIess, aching need
I say Iove it is a fIower,
And you it ’s onIy seed.
It ’s the heart afraid of breaking
That never Iearns 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 souI afraid of dying
That never Iearns to Iive.
When the night has been too IoneIy
And the road has been too Iong.
And you think that Iove is onIy
For the Iucky and the strong.
Just remember in the winter
Far beneath the bitter snow
Lies the seed that with the sun ’s Iove,
In the spring, becomes the rose.