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Love Is

Rod
Walford


Timeless

Love Is


White
Knight �
Black
Knight


Bitter
Harvest



 

In the petals of the poppies as they fall on Flanders fields,
And the hearts of congregations dwells the mighty power it wields.
From the eyes of little children to the voices of the old
It comes and goes, but never dies, and cant be bought or sold.

It counts no class or standing, or our economic state;
It knows no social etiquette, yet may decide our fate.
It can make a wise man foolish, quite unable to respond;
It can humble kings and princes, yet exalt a vagabond.

Its the tie that binds our spirits . . . its the force that drives us on.
It heals us when it touches but it hurts us when its gone.
And there are those whove died for it, and others who have cried
Because it came so fleetingly . . . before it was denied.

But without it all would perish and be meaningless and void
Its a gift to all humanity . . . a song to be enjoyed.
Its the core of our existence, its the reason for our birth;
It abides through all eternity, beyond our time on earth.

It knows no fear or malice, asking just that we believe;
And blessed is the soul that gives . . . it shall the more receive.
It has no worth in rubies, or in silver, or in gold,
Yet it lives today as surely as in miracles of old.



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Copyright �2002 by Rod Walford. All rights reserved.
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