They say that every rose has it’s thorns, then ask if a rose under any other name would smell just as sweet.
They say all is fair in love and war, and then go on to say that love is a battlefield.
I know a rose with a lot of thorns, light blue, unique. Now if she’d smell just as sweet under any other name I do not know.
But we have fought wars, she and I, so I can at least tell you that love is most definitely a battlefield.
But she ends our every battle with a kiss.