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