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.
|
|
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 dyin'
|
that never learns to live.
|
|
When the night has been too lonely
|
and the road has been to 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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|
The Rose
|
| Bette Midler |
