Were you the tender reed, you would be drown；
Were you a razor, your own soul would bleed;
Were it for endless aching of loneliness，
yet sometimes you would rather be alone;
Afraid of heart breaking,
afraid of deam waking,
you give it up;
never learns to dance,
never takes the chance,
and never be taken.
Yet brave though you were in the future,
remember
in the winter
far beneath the bitter snow
lies the seed
that
blossom
only with the sun's love
And that is only for the one
who learns to treasure.
图片发自简书App
