Love is like a tree, from begining to end
When given the chance to grow and florish, it will reach for to the sky
It will scar and heal, those wounds will always be seen
Never ceasing to grow until slowly, they die.

Looking upward for nourishment, and reaching down for the same
If it shoots to fast for the heavens, without digging its roots in deep
The first winds of turmoil will blow it crashing down
and time will call it back, forever to keep.