IN LOVING MEMORY OF ...
BARBARA A. WYANT
AUGUST 31, 1954 - DECEMBER 18, 2001
                    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,
                       AND ENDLESS ACHING NEED.
                        I SAY LOVE, IT IS A FLOWER,
                         AND YOU IT'S ONLY SEED.

               IT'S THE HEART, AFRAID OF BREAKING,
                     THAT NEVER LEARNS TO DANCE.
               IT'S THE DREAM, AFRAID OF WAKING,
                     THAT NEVER TAKES A CHANCE.
               IT'S THE ONE WHO WON'T BE TAKEN,
                       WHO 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 TO LONG,
                 AND YOU THINK THAT LOVE IS ONLY
                  FOR THE LUCKY, AND THE STRONG.
                    JUST REMEMBER IN THE WINTER
                  FAR BENEATH THE BITTER SNOWS,
        LIES THE SEED, THAT WITHT HE SUN'S LOVE,
                  IN THE SPRING BECOMES THE ROSE.
THE ROSE
BY BETTE MIDLER