Love is likened unto a fragile flower, which can be so easily crushed
By ones who try to hold, too tightly, to the fragility of a silenced hushed;
Boldly taken, roughly, petals crushed beneath a harsh deed or word.
Hold love gently, not as though to take, but let it be given in a voice unheard. 

Love is so precious. Hold it firmly. But, let its strength softly show
The tenderness of a touch or the look in ones eyes. Let it flow.
Please, never crush it. True love isn't jealous, neither does it demand,
But follows with all the love there is ... to a gentle, kindly, hand. 

My love wrote me, long ago, about this true caring kind of love;
Said no silver or golden band could hold back the kind given from above.
No castle halls to wander through but the halls of give and take
And, like a delicate flower with aromatic power, this kind of love we'll make. 

He once wrote that nothing could be more wonderful, in his whole life,
Than coming home to his flower of sorts; a sweet and gentle loving wife
Who held him not in bounds, but softly made crowns of love as of thistledown.
Each and every day to stand beside him, coming home is what he found. 

The romance and beauty of this strong love, like a delicate fragile flower,
Will keep your loved one home (by your side, hour after hour).
As the aromatic beauty comes on in and touches a heart that way,
No iron or steel could break it. It will keep on growing, each and every day.