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The Life of Love

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

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, in the winter
For beneath the bitter snows
Lies the seed that, with the Sun’s love,
In the Spring becomes the Rose . . .



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