Love is a bed of roses,
Indulged by its succulence smell,
But tormented by its blade-like thorns,
In dread I am of losing you,
The miles are not the excuses,
In dread I am of missing you,
Perhaps for so much hope I put,
In dread I am of dreaming you,
For months it is I long for you,
In dread I am of loving you,
For this love is not easy,
For this road is not meant,
To be as walking on paved path,
This road is difficult,
For the difficulties bears patience,
And with patience, this love grows,
With patience I will wait,
Even in the gravest dread.
