A rose is not a rose when it is only a seed, not until its green head has finally poked through the soil. Though its seed has the knowledge of the way life should bloom, it hasn't yet the freedom to be more than a shell.
A poem is no poem when it is only a thought, when it is simply a dream that can vanish in smoke. For perhaps a few seconds, the thought seizes a life of some beauty, but it hasn't even the outline of how a poem should look.
And so is Love not true Love when it is only a feeling, when it is something you dream of and still trapped in a shell. Ah, but that a rose, a poem and Love to be real, there demands a response to the chance they've been given!
