The Wild Rose

The Wild Rose

A solitary wild rose,
Just growing where it ought not.
Ragged and unmanaged;
Not quite meant for a rose plot.
So here it calls it’s home,
This lonely and unfitting spot.

A loving gardener,
With a touch and eyes so rare.
Stumbles upon the wild rose;
Finding it worse for the wear.
Seeing it in it’s plight,
Touched with a need for care.

A solitary wild rose,
Shaped by perseverance.
Never meant to survive,
Does by spite of appearance.
No one would miss the rose,
Upon it’s Disappearance.

A loving gardener,
Who sees beauty through pain,
Gives the wild rose attention,
More gratifying than rain.
For the rose will protect,
Keep the rose from being slain.

A solitary wild rose,
Becomes beautiful in bloom.
Embraced by the love;
The gardeners care its womb.
The rose offers back its gift,
Filling the air with perfume.

A loving gardener,
Lots of roses they have known.
But not one like this rose,
With adversity it’s grown.
With disadvantages,
Still to the world beauty shown.


A solitary wild rose,
Finding care so long sought.
A loving gardener,
Finding beauty raw not wrought.
Harmonious balance;
Together with out distraught.

G.Langmoore, November 27, 2010
© Copyright 2010 Gabrielle Langmoore. All rights reserved.