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The Rose.
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." 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 that won't be taken that 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 that in the winter, far beneath the bitter snow, Lies the seed, that with the sun's love, in the spring, Becomes the rose. Bless your heart, Amanda McBroom. ![]() |
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Der Äpfelchen begehrt ihr sehr, Und schon vom Paradiese her. Von Freuden fühl' ich mich bewegt, Daß auch mein Garten solche trägt. Faust You find the little apples nice For they first grew in Paradise, And I am happy telling you That they grow in my garden too.
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