If love were only passion
We'd see orange and not red,
For flaming burning beauty
Is yellowish instead,
And though it's flickering light
Illumines the lover's bed
Morning's glow will come again
To shine on what is dead.
So love's color then is red
Like bleeding sacrifice
The inward stuff pouring out
Not worrying over price
Without fear's hold, completely pure
Of yellow's cowardice
For deep inside we all admit
That less just can't suffice.
But orange's symbol has it's place
The reminder of new kindling fire
The needs we have set free set loose
By the spark of our desire
The end does not the beginning blame
For mistakes that do transpire
It's not the flame that leads astray
But the actions our fears require.