The Wild Rose
by Lee Carr

Deep in the Glen grows a wild rose,
Beside a cottage she calls home.
Her roots sink deep in the Highland earth,
In the ancient land which gave her birth.
Within her arms she holds her blooms,
Their sweetness is a soft perfume.
And though her beauty is rare indeed,
There dwells none here for her to see.

Alone in the breath of the soft, cool wind,
The cottage stands with emptiness within.
The rose entwines old rockeries,
That haunt the Glen with memories.

Once there was a maiden very fair,
Who kept the fires burning there.
Her voice was raised in sweetest song,
Which charmed the folk who passed along.

All would say the maiden fair,
Was like the rose which rambled there.
With such beauty highly prized,
She was soon to be a bride.

But cruel fate did crush the plan,
Between the maiden and her young lad.
Under the rose twining over the door,
Promises were spoken, but he came no more.

Though she kept a vigil by her door,
She only saw lads going off to war.
In time the maiden saw none pass by,
They had all gone off to die.

Through the years she tended the rose,
But the fair young maiden had now grown old.
Locks of gold were now of white,
But the sweetness still shone in her eyes.