Love is but a word

To what is the name I speak that makes you cry
It is but a word that has no real meaning
To what is the thought that the word transends its meaning
I say love and you think of an emotion
Yet you say love and I think of sadness and pain to which love should not translate the thought of
The color red to most brings the thought of a rose and a delicate touch and a soft glow
But to me it is the blood that spills from my broken heart
"A rose by any other name is still a rose"
"Does it not smell as sweet"
But to some the very thought of a rose can make them cry for it turns over a stone under which a sad sad sorrow dwells
And under the soil is the true yet forgotten emotion that was lost and burried long ago
And a mile from here is where I burried your love