Words now written in bright red ink,
On a lonely Valentine’s Day,
But then that’s how they all have been,
Since the day you went away,
On a day reserved for love,
What person do you hold,
And if our arms hold empty air,
Is the emotion somehow sold.
These hands now hold a bright red rose,
It’s beauty we all can see,
Yet as we feel its prickly thorns,
Can the heart this day be free,
It all comes down to what we feel,
To the hopes and dreams we share,
This rose becomes a timeless symbol,
That for you, this heart still cares.
Fingers spin the rose around,
Eyes see the deep dark red,
And even if we stand alone,
Love still lives in heart and head,
Though pain may be the indirect cost,
For all the things we found,
On this day, love still lives,
But it lives without a sound.
A rose once cut will wither and die,
But belief in you never will,
And every day that passes by,
Is a day I love you still,
All might look and joke or laugh,
But there’s something they don’t see,
That with this red rose in my hands,
Both our hearts are free.