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I love you more than the slow-falling summer rain,
More than the silence that only the snow leaves behind,
I love you more,

And i love you better than the gray of the autumn air,
better than spring in it's blooming agenst the sky,
I love you more,

It may not be red as the roses yet,
It may not be strong as the old oalk trees,
But love planted deeply becomes what it ought to be,

Your love is steady and sure as the mountians high,
Moving my heart like a river that gently bends,
Your love is sure,

Your love is wide open spaces where i can run,
And yet we're tangled up roots in the warm broken earth,
Yeah, our love is sure,

And It may not be clear as the morning yet,
It may not be wide as the restless sea,
but love given freely becomes what it ought to be,

[Whistling]

It may not be clear as the morning yet,
It may not be wide as the restless sea,
It may not be red as the roses yet,
It may not be strong as the old oalk trees, but love planted deeply becomes what it ought to and hearts given freely become what they ought to and love planted deeply becomes what it ought to be,

What it ought to be

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