• Some say Love is like a well,
    it drowns the needy, tender yell.
    Some say Love is like a knife,
    the quickest way to end a life.
    Some say Love is like a hunger,
    a greedy flame like that of Ungar.


    But I say Love is like a flower,
    a blossoming beauty of wonderous valour.
    A delicate work of art,
    it flows with the wind as if dearing to tear apart.
    Afraid to end what quickly came,
    to make it last forever: its aim.

    And Love can be a harmless thing,
    yet cut you deep and make you sting.
    It makes you doubt all you know,
    but will fill you with missery and woe.
    It never seems to stop to grow,
    for Love in the Spring becomes the Rose.