Love showers the seeds of beauty which bloom to the myriad flowers. Reds, blues, yellows, oranges; of many petals or few. Would one place any above the other? Yet, inclined toward the rose, or the violet; the attar and the scent lures one to their source. Find the scent of goodness. Taste it. Become it. Let it go and a finer scent comes wafting apparent. The scent and the taste lead one to the shower. The shower toward its source.