Love is no stranger to the pain she brings.
She means no danger; she leaves us good sins.
Her price is pain, hurt for the joy she brings:
Paid in wails of thunder to curse her sins.
I do speak waste! Of love that hastes death rates:
Digging graves for fools with more heart and no brains,
Their hearts brave forth, taking the test love creates:
They fight back with brave hearts; they sing praise in the rains.
I see love. She comes as a harbinger.
She makes the way to our hearts much sweeter
So leave the icy cold winter: your bitter hate bringer
And leave a place in your heart for a bright summer.