“But he who dares not grasp the thorn, should never crave the rose.”
Have you ever loved a rose, and watched her slowly bloom;
and as her petals would unfold, you grew drunk on her perfume.
Have you ever seen her dance, her leaves all wet with dew;
and quivered with a new romance–the wind, he loved her too.
Have you ever longed for her, on nights that go on and on;
for now, her face is all a blur, like a memory kept too long.
Have you ever loved a rose, and bled against her thorns;
and swear each night to let her go, then love her more by dawn.