Love is like a flowing river
The one that runs forever.
It's not much like a spring flower
And fall's dying endeavors.
Love is the careening wind
Caressing softly of rose petals.
For if it came on far too strong—
Well, flowers aren't indestructible metals.
Love is the beaming sun
And its heat burning against your skin.
Then comes the evanescence of that warmth
Beckoning the sweetness to begin.