Love Roses

Love is,
Many would say,
Like a red, red rose
That grows
And grows
Until
You can no longer stand it
And it bursts.
The petals fall,
Scattered on the soil.
There,
They shrivel
And die.
And nothing is left
But thorns.
A drought...
Famine...
Winter...
And then
The gardener comes.
And you know-
It's spring again!