The hurt of love, like rose’s thorn
Can leave the heart ragged and torn
But love commits to pay its price
Humility and sacrifice
The hope of love, like morning’s light
Spills through the darkness of the night
Into frail cups of want and woe
Love grants the grace whereby we go
The help of love is like a staff
On which we lean; we weep and laugh
And learn to let go of the fear
That otherwise would commandeer
The joy of love, like bud’s full bloom
Encourages us to resume
The hurt and hope and help of it
To taste the joy of love a bit
© Janet Martin
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